


trouble will find you

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras was doing just fine until a certain someone came walking back into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so technically this fic is a follow-up to my [boarding school fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1105289/chapters/2223737), however, you can read this fic without having read the other one, which is why I'm not making a series out of it.

There was no need for Enjolras to head into work on a Saturday morning. His articles for the following week were done, so was his weekly blog entry, and anyway, all that was nothing he couldn’t do at home. But he felt restless that morning and he still had a couple of hours to kill until he was meeting Cosette for lunch.

He could only guess, but he was pretty sure that he was so agitated because he knew exactly why Cosette had insisted on meeting him for lunch today. It wasn’t a secret that Marius had been thinking about asking her to marry him. Enjolras spent too much time with Courfeyrac – who in turn spent a lot of time with Marius – to not have heard. So he supposed that Cosette would tell him that Marius had finally proposed to her.

Enjolras had long since accepted that Marius would be the guy that his adopted sister was going to marry one day – he was happy for her. Really. He wasn’t happy about all the obligations that would undoubtedly come with this wedding, though.

For one, their parents would probably get involved and during the last few years Enjolras had made a point in spending as little time with them as he possibly could. It made things a lot easier for him.

Combeferre gave him a pointed look over the rim of his coffee mug when Enjolras told him that he was headed to the office, but didn’t otherwise say anything. He probably knew better how Enjolras was feeling right now than Enjolras himself did.

Enjolras bought some breakfast on the way, read the news while he was on the bus and only barely refrained from sending an angry email to one or two people who dared to call themselves journalists.

The office was mostly empty when Enjolras arrived, so it was blessedly quiet and he could immerse himself in his work and do some research for articles and blog entries he was planning on doing in the near future. Time went by quickly and in the end he nearly ended up being late for his lunch date with Cosette.

They were meeting at the Musain, Bahorel and Jehan’s little bakery and café, which they had opened after Bahorel had spent two weeks baking instead of studying for his exams and had eventually decided that law school was now a thing of the past for him. They’d had a bit of a rough start, but now, almost five years later, the café wasn’t just an insider tip anymore. It was always teeming with people, at least half of them students, and Jehan kept making jokes about them having to expand soon.

Jehan waved at him from behind the counter when he walked inside and pointed at a table in the back, where Cosette was sitting, beaming at him.

Enjolras greeted her and then quickly got himself a cup of coffee and a bagel before he joined her in the back. “So, what’s up?” he asked, since Cosette looked like she was about to explode from excitement. She _definitely_ had something to tell him.

She let out a squeal. “He asked me,” she whispered and held out her hand to show him her ring. It was a nice ring, Enjolras guessed. He didn’t know much about engagement rings, but Cosette seemed to be incredibly happy with it and that was good enough for him.

“Congratulations,” Enjolras said, smiling at her. He knew that he was expected to ask questions now, so he started with the easiest one. “When did he ask you?”

“About an hour before I called you and asked you to meet me for lunch today,” Cosette said, still grinning broadly.

“And…” Enjolras thought for a second, not sure what to ask next. “How about you just tell me everything that you want to tell me?”

“What an excellent idea,” Cosette said. The next half hour Enjolras got to listen to all kinds of things that had to do with weddings – flowers and dresses and receptions and perfect wedding dates. “…anyway, we were thinking a summer wedding would be nice.”

“Right,” Enjolras said. “Sounds good to me.”

Cosette laughed. “Seriously, Enjolras, one day I’ll come to you and ask you what kind of flowers to pick and then you’ll actually have to make an effort. I’ll take you dress shopping and then you’ll have to make the biggest effort you’ve ever made in your whole life.”

“I am making an effort _right now_ , I just had no idea that weddings are so complicated.”

Cosette smiled at him in a way that could only be described as borderline-condescending and reached across the table to squeeze his hand.

“I’ll try to be as helpful as I can,” Enjolras promised. Which probably wouldn’t be all that helpful, but he was the only family that Cosette had – well, apart from their parents – so he’d do his very best.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Cosette said, “because I’m inviting mother and father to come have dinner with us next weekend to tell them that Marius and I are getting married and I want you to come.”

“No way,” Enjolras said immediately.

“Come on, I need you there. It’s just dinner. You don’t even have to say much to them, I’ll do most of the talking and Marius will be there, too, I just need you as moral support, that’s all.”

“Even if I don’t talk a lot, I’m sure dad will find a way of bringing up what a complete and utter disappointment I am. And then he’ll get into a fight with mum about my career choice and about why I never show up for family dinners and why I only send cards at Christmas instead of coming by like you do,” Enjolras grumbled. “It’s always the same, Cosette, that dinner will be a disaster if I’m there.”

Cosette just stared him down for a couple of seconds. He knew that she knew he was right, but she obviously wasn’t ready to back down. “Please,” she said eventually.

Enjolras sighed. “That’s not going to be the only dinner you’ll be having with them before that wedding, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Cosette replied.

“And you’re sure you want me to be there for this one?” Enjolras asked.

“Oh, so basically what you’re saying is that you’re going to come to one of them, but _only_ one? And I have to choose wisely?”

“Basically,” Enjolras said. He wouldn’t live through more than one, that much was clear.

“You’re a dick,” Cosette said, a big fake smile plastered onto her face. “But yeah, I want you to be there for this one. Because if you’re there, dad might not pick on Marius as much as usual.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna pick on me instead,” Enjolras muttered.

“But you don’t care,” Cosette said insistently. “Marius is gonna cry if dad is mean to him again. And I don’t want him to cry, okay?”

“Just tell him that our dad’s an ass who doesn’t like anyone,” Enjolras said dryly. Cosette didn’t reply. “Fine,” Enjolras said eventually, “I’ll come.”

“You’re the best,” Cosette said, smiling again.

Their conversation went back to more pleasant subjects, then, and later on they even got free cupcakes from Jehan to celebrate the big news. Afterwards Cosette convinced him to go shopping with her and he was busy carrying her bags for the rest of the afternoon.

He came home carrying two bags with a shirt and a pair of jeans, both of which he definitely hadn’t needed, and flopped down on the couch next to Combeferre with a heavy sigh.

Combeferre put down his book and raised his eyebrows at him.

“Cosette is getting married,” Enjolras told him.

“It’s nice to hear that Marius has finally managed to get it together and ask her,” Combeferre mused.

Enjolras snorted. “Yeah.”

“I suppose someone’s going to throw a party for them soon,” Combeferre said. It was all too obvious that by _someone_ he meant Courfeyrac.

“Probably,” Enjolras agreed. He remained silent for a while, then he sighed. “I have to have dinner with my parents next weekend.”

Combeferre sat up at that. “Why?”

“Cosette wants to tell them that she’s getting married and she wants me to be there so I can distract our father from how much he dislikes Marius.” He shrugged. “And for moral support, too, but we both know that she just wants me to come because I’ll be an excellent distraction.”

“I see,” Combeferre mumbled. “Well, I don’t doubt that you will be.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras grumbled.

“You really think that it’ll be that bad, huh?” Combeferre asked.

“No, I _know_ that it’ll be that bad,” Enjolras corrected.

“Maybe they’ll be happy to see you,” Combeferre said. “They haven’t seen you for a while, after all.”

“Right.” Enjolras leaned back and hugged a pillow to his chest. “I suppose my mum might actually be happy to see me. But she’ll also tell me how disappointed she is because I never call. Or visit. And my dad is probably going to agree with her.” He groaned. “It’ll be so bad, ‘Ferre.”

Combeferre looked at him sympathetically. “I’m sure it won’t be _that_ bad. They’ll talk about the wedding a lot.”

“They’ll probably get into an argument about where they should get married.”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said, smiling now, “just calm down, alright? It’ll be fine. Sure, your parents might make a couple of reproachful comments, but you do send them cards for their birthdays and for Christmas, don’t you?”

“You really just said that, didn’t you?” Enjolras said, shaking his head.

Combeferre smiled. “I’m just trying to make you feel better about this.”

“Well, you’re only moderately successful at that,” Enjolras grumbled. “Maybe I’ll just get sick during dinner and then I’ll have to go home.” No, he’d just had a much better idea. “Or _you’ll_ get sick and you’ll call me and ask me to come home to take care of you, how about that?”

Combeferre only rolled his eyes as way of letting him know that he shouldn’t expect any help from him in that department.

“Fine,” Enjolras grumbled and then padded over to the kitchen to see if they had any food left, still thinking.

Maybe he could ask Courfeyrac for help. Although Courfeyrac would probably rat him out to Marius, who’d most definitely tell Cosette and then Cosette would cold-bloodedly murder him.

He was aware that he was quite possibly being overdramatic. At least his parents hadn’t shunned him completely, but that was probably because they still didn’t know that he was gay. He’d simply never bothered to tell them.

Enjolras knew that Jehan had told his father the same night he’d told him that he would neither become a doctor nor a lawyer and as far as he knew Jehan hadn’t spoken to his parents ever since. Not that he hadn’t tried – they just didn’t take his calls anymore.

Combeferre found him leaning against their kitchen counter, a cup of instant coffee in hand, still brooding. Like the wonderful roommate that he was and had always been Combeferre took pity on him and made him dinner. He’d tried to teach Enjolras how to cook starting the day they’d moved in together, but he’d long since given up.

Courfeyrac had moved in with them during their second year of university, which was when he and Jehan had broken up, and had lived with them until he’d started working as a lawyer and had found his own apartment – one that was closer to his office.

Enjolras and Combeferre were still living together, even though both of them could technically afford their own place. And obviously Enjolras had thought about moving out, but he just liked living with Combeferre way too much. He’d got so used to him being there over the years, he wasn’t even sure how he’d fare if he had to live alone all of a sudden. He’d probably be lost without him. And he’d have to eat ready-made meals for the rest of his life, which wasn’t a prospect he was too fond of.

So as long Combeferre was fine with their current arrangement, Enjolras would be as well.

That night he went to bed early, hoping his bad mood would be gone in the morning, but he did spend the following week in a constant state of exasperation, especially because time went by way too fast and Enjolras caught himself trying to come up with excuses as to why he wouldn't be able to make it after all.

In the end he endured the daily “don’t forget dinner on Saturday” reminders from Cosette and assured her that he was still coming. He complained to Combeferre every now and then, and Combeferre listened to him as patiently as always, even though he had papers to grade and a science fair to organize.

To give Combeferre a break, Enjolras asked Courfeyrac to meet him at the Musain on Friday night, knowing that Courfeyrac would probably be able to distract him effectively.

By the time he got off the bus, it had started to rain, so he quickly ran down the street to the café, ducking inside with a huff. He stopped dead once he’d entered, though, his eyes on the guy who was leaning against the counter.

Enjolras could only see his back, the thin shirt clinging to his back, a little wet from the rain, the skinny jeans, the battered Converse, dark curls tucked under a beanie. He was looking down at his phone and he was laughing. If Enjolras hadn’t recognized him by his looks, he would have recognized him by his laugh alone.

Enjolras just stood right there in the doorway for a few more seconds, staring at him in disbelief, and then, not knowing what else to do, he walked right back out into the rain.


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras wasn’t quite sure if he remembered how to breathe.

Grantaire was here. He was here, right here at the Musain, and Enjolras had no idea for how long he’d been back or for how long he was going to stay and right now it didn’t matter to him all that much, because he was quite simply too overwhelmed by the fact that they were both back in the same city.

He quickly walked away from the Musain, back to the bus stop, until he realized that he’d actually come here for a reason and couldn’t just leave – as much as he wanted to. Enjolras quickly fished his phone out of his bag and dialed Courfeyrac’s number.

“I know I’m late, but I promise you, I’ll leave right now and I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Courfeyrac said as soon as he’d picked up.

Enjolras frowned. “You’re still at your place?”

“I am,” Courfeyrac said. “Look, Matilda got really excited and she was wagging her tail, you know, as dogs do when they get really excited and she smashed a mug and there was coffee in the mug and now there’s coffee and broken mug pieces all over my living room, but I’m leaving _right now_ , I swear.”

“No, stay right there,” Enjolras said. “I’ll come to your place.”

“You’re coming to my place?” Courfeyrac asked, sounding confused now. Enjolras really couldn’t blame him.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m doing,” Enjolras replied and started walking. “We can’t go to the Musain.”

“What? Why not?”

“I’ll explain when I get there.”

“Okay, but bring something to eat, yeah?”

“Alright,” Enjolras said and then hung up. He bought two sandwiches at a little bistro around the corner from Courfeyrac’s place and ran the rest of the way as the rain began to come down more heavily, but by the time he rang Courfeyrac’s doorbell, Enjolras was pretty much drenched.

Courfeyrac let him inside, his eyes wide. He got him a dry change of clothes and made him some tea, Enjolras said hello to Matilda, while Courfeyrac was talking about the tragic loss of one of his favorite mugs and then they sat down on the couch, eating in silence until Courfeyrac apparently couldn’t take it anymore and put down his sandwich.

“Okay, please tell me why we can’t go to the Musain,” he said, the contents of his sandwich slowly dropping onto his plate.

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Grantaire was there.”

Now Courfeyrac dropped his whole sandwich. “What?”

“Grantaire. He was at the Musain. He was just standing there, talking to Jehan, I guess, I didn’t even look, I just saw him and then I left,” Enjolras explained.

“Okay,” Courfeyrac said, nodding slowly. “Grantaire was there. That’s… interesting. And you didn’t talk to him?”

“No, of course not,” Enjolras grumbled.

“And he didn’t see you?”

“I don’t think so. I told you, I walked right back outside when I saw him.” He too put down his sandwich. He wasn’t really hungry anymore. “What is he doing here?”

Courfeyrac hummed and grabbed for his phone.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked.

“I’m calling Jehan,” Courfeyrac said matter-of-factly. “Grantaire was at the Musain, right? So Jehan definitely knows that he’s here. He probably also knows _why_ he’s here.”

“Yeah, and Grantaire’s probably still there,” Enjolras said. “At the Musain.”

“So?” Courfeyrac asked with a shrug.

“Well, he’ll know that something is up.”

“Fine, I’ll just send Jehan a text and ask him to call me later, okay?” Courfeyrac said, already starting to type out a text.  

Enjolras nodded absent-mindedly. “I just don’t understand…” He trailed off and shrugged. “Did you know he was coming?”

“Honestly, I had no idea,” Courfeyrac said, his expression serious. “But maybe he’s back,” he added, “you know, for good.”

“You think he’s staying?” Enjolras asked. He really wasn’t sure how on earth he was supposed to feel about this. He hadn’t talked to Grantaire in years. He didn’t even know what he’d been up to, except for whatever he’d overheard when his friends had talked about him. Sometimes Joly and Bossuet had mentioned him, sometimes Jehan pinned a new postcard to the huge board behind the counter at the Musain and would pointedly not mention who it was from.

“I have no idea,” Courfeyrac said. “Anyway, he’s probably just visiting. I’m pretty sure that nobody knew he was coming, otherwise somebody would have warned you.”

“Well, it’s not like I needed a warning,” Enjolras grumbled. “I was just surprised to see him, that’s all.” Okay, maybe a little warning would have been nice.

“Have you…” Courfeyrac paused, shrugging. “Have you talked to him at all since he left?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I didn’t want to talk to him. And, to be honest, I wouldn’t have known how to contact him anyway.”

“I’m sure someone could have helped you out there,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

“Well, as I said, I didn’t even _want_ to talk to him. I had nothing to say to him. I still don’t.”

“Really?” Courfeyrac asked. “Nothing at all?”

Enjolras pursed his lips, folding his arms across his chest. Maybe there were a few things. But if he ever got a chance to utter them, then he’d probably yell rather than just say them.

“Don’t you think you guys could be, I don’t know, friends maybe?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“What if he actually stays?”

“Well, I just hope that he won’t,” Enjolras muttered.

Courfeyrac let out a small sigh and then took to finishing his own and afterwards Enjolras’ sandwich. Later, when there wasn’t any danger of having their sandwiches eaten by a ever-hungry Labrador, Courfeyrac let Matilda back inside and Enjolras was occupied with scratching her behind the ears while Courfeyrac told him about the engagement party that he was planning for Marius and Cosette, probably just to distract him.

It didn’t work too well, but Enjolras did appreciate that Courfeyrac was trying.

“Did Jehan reply to your text?” Enjolras asked after a while. He hated being this impatient, but he just wanted to know what was going on and whether or not he’d be able to have lunch at the Musain without running into his ex. It was a ridiculous thought, but he’d really rather not run into Grantaire again.

“Yeah, he said he’d call me as soon as the evening rush is over,” Courfeyrac said. “Probably won’t be much longer.”

True to Courfeyrac’s words, his phone rang less than half an hour later.

“Jehan,” Courfeyrac answered, “did you know that Grantaire’s back in town?” Courfeyrac frowned. “Oh, is he?” He bit his lip. “Why is he here?” He listened for a couple of seconds, humming in reply every now and then. “Oh, okay.”

“Ask how long he’s staying,” Enjolras whispered.

“Did he say how long he was planning on staying?” Courfeyrac asked, winking at him. “Well, maybe I want to meet up with him and ask him what the fuck he’s been doing for the last couple of years.” He frowned again. “I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea.” Then he sighed. “Well, for obvious reasons.”

“What?” Enjolras mouthed.

Courfeyrac only shook his head ever so slightly. “No, that’s really not what I’m saying, it’s just… not a good idea.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sure, I will.” He paused again, and then drew in a deep breath. “Well, I just heard. News travel fast, you know how it goes.” Courfeyrac made a face. “Yeah, see you and tell Grantaire I said hi.”

He hung up then, rolling his eyes. “He knew that I lied, you know that, right?”

“About what exactly?” Enjolras asked.

“He asked how I knew that Grantaire was in town and I just said that _I heard_. He definitely didn’t buy that.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyone could have seen him,” Enjolras said lowly.

Courfeyrac groaned. “Anyway,” he said, “Jehan asked me to tell you that Grantaire’s here before you just randomly run into him. I’ve hereby done that.”

Well, Enjolras would have been happy to have this particular piece of information about two hours ago. “What else did he tell you?” Enjolras asked impatiently.

“Not much.” Courfeyrac shrugged. “He’s just visiting, apparently, Jehan didn’t really know. I guess they haven’t talked about it yet. Grantaire only got here this morning and he’s sleeping on Jehan’s couch and he didn’t say how long he’s going to stay either.”

Enjolras let out an annoyed huff. Fantastic. “And what was that bad idea that Jehan had?”

“Well, he thought Grantaire could just come to our meeting on Wednesday,” Courfeyrac mumbled. “But that’s definitely a terrible idea.”

Enjolras pursed his lips, not sure what to think. The more he heard, the more he wanted to see Grantaire, but Courfeyrac was right. It was a bad idea.

“Although…” Courfeyrac trailed off, just looking at him for a long moment.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, causing Courfeyrac to smile.

“Well,” Courfeyrac said, “maybe you could be friends after all. Jehan and I are still friends. I mean, it took a while, but we’re good.”

“But that’s different,” Enjolras mumbled. “Grantaire and I hated each other when we met. Remember how long it took us to become friends in the first place?”

“But you did eventually.”

Enjolras shrugged and then fell silent. He didn’t even know why seeing Grantaire had upset him so much. He was over Grantaire. Sure, he’d thought about him every now and then, but that didn’t mean that he still cared. Of course he’d loved Grantaire, but they’d had their fair share of problems, and anyway, they’d been kids. They weren’t kids anymore now. Things had changed.

“Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asked after a while, reaching out to put a hand on his back. “You okay?”

“I just… I don’t know why I care? I shouldn’t be… I don’t even know how I’m feeling, but shouldn’t I be completely indifferent? Shouldn’t I be able to just talk to him and ask him how he’s been because I’m a goddamned adult?”

Courfeyrac bit his lip. Enjolras knew that he wanted to say something – something that Courfeyrac knew Enjolras didn’t want to hear.

“Just say it,” Enjolras grumbled. “Whatever it is, I can take it.”

“Well, it’s just… you didn’t break up with Grantaire because you didn’t love him anymore.”

“What are you trying to say? That I still love him?” Enjolras asked. “I certainly don’t.”

“But there might be some teeny tiny leftover feelings,” Courfeyrac said. “You know, I still know why I loved Jehan as much as I did, I remember it all the time and sometimes I miss being with him. Obviously that doesn’t change that things didn’t work out in the end, but you don’t erase the entirety of the history you have with someone when you break up with them.”

“But I don’t want to have,” Enjolras waved his hands around helplessly, “leftover feelings.” He was still convinced that he didn’t have any, but he couldn’t deny that Courfeyrac had a point.

“I’m sorry but you don’t really get a say in that.” Courfeyrac put his arm around him. “You always kept saying that you didn’t care that he left, but did you really not care at all?

“I didn’t,” Enjolras grumbled. “I still don’t. It’s his life he can do what he wants. He just could have… you know what, it doesn’t matter. Tell Jehan that he can bring Grantaire to the meeting, I don’t care.”

“So you’re in denial,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully. “That’s wonderful.”

“I’m not in denial. It’s just stupid of me to make such a big deal out of this.”

“Well, it kinda is a big deal. I mean, you haven’t seen him in what? Seven years?”

Enjolras shrugged. “So?”

Courfeyrac squeezed his shoulder. “Enjolras, remember when I said you were emotionally constipated?”

“I do,” Enjolras replied. “I still don’t know what on earth you were talking about.”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that I still stand by that statement,” Courfeyrac told him. “You can’t just ignore your feelings all the time.”

“I just don’t see what good it’ll do if I behave like a child because of this. I’m an adult, I should behave like one. So I’ll tolerate his presence.”

“Wow,” Courfeyrac said. “I hate to break it to you, but adults have feelings, too.”

Enjolras sighed. “Can we just talk about something else?”

“Sure, let’s look on the bright side, shall we? You wanted to meet up so I could distract you from that dinner with your parents you have to go to tomorrow and I think you were pretty distracted, weren’t you?”

Right. He still had to go to that dinner tomorrow.

* * *

Enjolras met Marius and Cosette in front of an expensive restaurant that looked like it served dishes with tiny potions and weird garnishes. Their parents were nowhere in sight, then again, Enjolras was ten minutes early, just so he wouldn’t give them another reason to pick on him.

Cosette and Marius had obviously had a similar idea. Marius already looked like he was about ready to burst into tears, Cosette kept fidgeting and was a little quieter than she usually was around him.

She did smile at him when he arrived, though, and hooked her arm around his. “Guess what,” Cosette said, her smile as forced as could be.

“What?” Enjolras asked. Right now he was really expecting the worst, although he wasn’t even sure what _the worst_ would even be.

“Dad is bringing wife number three,” Cosette said, not even trying to hide her contempt anymore.

“Fantastic,” Enjolras said lowly. He barely knew wife number three. He’d gone to the wedding two years ago, but had left as early as he could. What had become abundantly clear to him, however, was that the thing wife number three liked most about his father was his money.

Wife number three didn’t like him. She didn’t like Cosette either. She actually didn’t seem to like anyone but herself, but Enjolras wouldn’t know and also had no wish to find out whether or not there was a somewhat pleasant person somewhere underneath the fur coat and the ridiculously expensive haircut. The only reason her father was bringing her to dinner was probably so he could shove his so called happiness in their mother’s face.

“What about mum?” Enjolras asked. “Is she bringing anyone?”

“Not as far as I know,” Cosette mumbled. “She does have a boyfriend. Or at least she did a couple of months ago, but who knows if he stuck around.”

Enjolras sighed. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure if she’d started drinking again, but it honestly wouldn’t be all that surprising to him.

Their mother arrived only a couple of minutes later, first hugging Cosette and Marius, then smiling at Enjolras before she hugged him, too. She looked like she was doing just fine, but she’d always been good at keeping up appearances. At least she did seem to be genuinely happy to see them all.

It didn’t take long until their father and wife number three made an appearance as well. Wife number three greeted them all with a forced smile, his father only nodded at him before he turned to greet Cosette and Marius.

“Enjolras, to what do we owe the honor?” his father asked as they sat down at their table.

“Cosette asked me to come,” Enjolras told him, trying his best not to glare at him.

“Ah, I see, maybe we should just ask Cosette to invite you to Christmas dinner this year,” he said, barking out a laugh. “And are you still working for that god-awful paper?”

“I am,” Enjolras replied, his patience and calm dwindling rapidly. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been expecting this, but maybe some part of him had hoped that it wouldn’t be all that bad.

“Still no girlfriend, I presume?”

“Paul,” his mother cut in, her tone at least vaguely polite, “why don’t you give the boy a minute to take a look at the menu before you start to interrogate him?”

“Well, he never shows his face at home anymore, you can’t blame me if I’m curious.”

It went on like this until they ordered their drinks and food, then Cosette saved him from having to answer any more questions when she finally told them that she was getting married, and at first it looked like everyone was actually delighted about the news – but only until their father started pestering Marius with question. About his job, about his financial situation, about whether or not they were planning on moving into a bigger apartment, and so on and so on.

And he didn’t ask them with interest. There was always a menacing undertone to his words. So much for Cosette’s theory that their father might not pick on Marius as much if he was there.

His father did eventually come back to how disappointed he was that Enjolras hadn’t chosen a proper career, that he didn’t make a proper living, that he still didn’t have a girlfriend – which was probably due to his _rioting_ , as his father called it.

True, Enjolras had organized a few protests, he didn’t keep his opinions quiet, but that was hardly the reason why he didn’t have a girlfriend.

“Have you considered the possibility that there might be a different reason for me not having a girlfriend?” Enjolras asked icily.

“Of course, maybe it’s because of your terrible manners,” his father retorted. “I thought we’d taught you better.”

Enjolras briefly glanced at Cosette, who seemed to have given up on the notion that this might turn out to be a nice and quiet family dinner, then at Marius, who was staring down at his empty plate, and at his mother, who was clutching her glass of water in a rather unsuccessful attempt to hide her shaking fingers.

“Well,” Enjolras said lowly, “it’s not like you had much time to teach me better since you were too busy sleeping with your secretary.” The alternative would have been for him to tell his father that he’d never have a girlfriend to introduce to him because he was gay. Maybe it would have been the better alternative.

He could see his father’s face turn redder and redder, and whatever was about to come, it surely wouldn’t be pretty, but Cosette beat him to it.

“Please,” she said, looking around sternly, “just stop. Both of you. We’ll be here for approximately thirty more minutes and if you can’t say anything nice,” she said, turning to their father, “maybe you shouldn’t say anything at all.”

Enjolras let out an angry huff, counting the minutes until he finally got to leave. He quickly said his goodbyes once they’d paid, apologized to Cosette but not his father, and walked off before he could say anything else that he might regret later on.

He wasn’t even sure where he was going for a while. He was just walking. He couldn’t go home yet, he was still too riled up, so he walked and walked until he found himself just around the corner from the Corinthe, a bar that Joly and Bossuet had discovered only a few days after they’d moved to Paris. Enjolras hadn’t spent nearly as much time in there as his friends had, but he still went inside now.

He sat down at the bar and, after remembering his mother’s trembling fingers, he ordered a Coke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the sweet comments and the kudos I got for the first chapter, they made writing the second one a lot easier!
> 
> (Sorry that there was no Grantaire in this chapter. He'll make an appearance in the next one.)


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras stared down at the slowly melting ice cubes in his empty glass, his thoughts like a whirlwind, jumping back and forth between and his parents and Grantaire and Cosette and then back to Grantaire, back to what his father had said to him, always back and forth.

He didn’t notice that someone had stepped up to him until they cleared his throat.

Enjolras looked up and found himself faced with bright blue eyes boring into him, scruffy cheeks and a shy smile. “Enjolras…”

He wanted to walk away. He _should_ walk away. This was the last thing he needed right now. “I really…” He took a deep breath. “I can’t talk to you right now.”

Grantaire nodded. “Jehan said that Courfeyrac told you I was in town… I just… I saw you walk in and I wanted to,” he shrugged, “say hello, I guess?”

Going by how long Enjolras had been sitting right here on this uncomfortable barstool, it had obviously taken Grantaire a while to actually do so. “Well, you did that,” Enjolras said impatiently. “Hello to you, too. Now would you please leave me alone?”

“Are you alright?” Grantaire asked, looking like he was about to reach out for a second, but thankfully jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead.

“No,” Enjolras replied, “I’m not alright. I’m really not.” And Grantaire being here, standing right next to him, really didn’t make it better. But Enjolras had promised himself that he’d behave like an adult when they were finally face to face again, so he took a deep breath. “Look, I had a bad day and I have no intention of making it even worse.” He shook his head. “I should go home. We can exchange pleasantries some other time, alright?”

Grantaire took a step back when Enjolras slid off the barstool, but followed at his heels when he walked outside.  

Enjolras stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, turning to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“Look, you don’t have to talk to me, that’s fine, but I want to make sure you’re okay, so let me at least walk you to the bus stop?”

“I’ll be fine without you, don’t worry,” Enjolras snapped. “I have been for seven years.”

Grantaire recoiled at that, biting his lip. “Yeah, I guess I deserved that one.”

“You most certainly did,” Enjolras said and resumed walking towards the closest bus stop, not even surprised when Grantaire still followed him.

He sat down at the bench at the bus stop, glaring at Grantaire when he sat down next to him. He couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t believe that today, of all days, he’d walked straight into the same bar that Grantaire had been in, too.

Grantaire sighed, tapping his foot restlessly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered eventually.

“Oh, you’re _sorry_ ,” Enjolras said. “Well, I suppose that makes everything okay, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Grantaire grumbled. “I just… I am sorry. For everything that happened. And I’m sorry for just showing up here.”

“You’re free to go wherever you want to go,” Enjolras mumbled, looking down the street, hoping his bus would turn the corner soon, but he had no such luck.

They fell silent then, and Enjolras watched the cars drive by, listened to the _tap tap tap_ of Grantaire’s foot, and tried to will his bus to come quicker.

He eventually glanced at Grantaire again. He’d changed in ways that Enjolras could barely describe – his hair still looked the same, it was just a little shorter, his eyes were as bright as they’d always been, he still looked at him the way he’d always had, with a mixture of awe and exasperation, but there was something about him that hadn’t been there before. He could somehow see the seven years that had gone by since they’d last seen each other written all over his face.  Grantaire had seen a lot, Enjolras could tell, he’d been out there, doing God knows what. He probably had hundreds of stories to tell.

Enjolras wanted to hear them all. At the same time he wanted to run away from this as far and as fast as he possibly could, because he was starting to think that Courfeyrac may have been right. It was still there. That feeling he’d always got when Grantaire had been close to him.

Enjolras turned away again. He was in no way able to deal with this on top of everything else right now. So he watched the cars again. His bus was still nowhere in sight.

“I missed you,” Grantaire mumbled after a while.

“Can you not do that,” Enjolras said, looking at him again. “ _You_ left. You are the one who left me.”

“Look, I’m not here to…” He shook his head. “I just thought we could be friends. I’m going to stay for a couple of weeks and… I don’t know. Fuck, I really have no idea what the hell I was thinking. I know I fucked up, Enjolras. I know that. But I missed you. And I just really needed to tell you that.”

“Great, I’m glad you got that off your chest.”

Grantaire tilted his head, frowning. “Do you want to talk about what happened? Tonight, I mean?”

Yes, Enjolras did want to talk about what had happened, but the person he wanted to talk to was most definitely not Grantaire, so he remained silent.

“You know, I don’t think your bus is coming,” Grantaire mumbled.

Enjolras was suspecting the exact same thing, but a cab was too expensive. He could always take the Metro, but if he walked to the closest station, he might as well walk all the way home.

“I could walk you home,” Grantaire went on. “I wouldn’t even talk.”

Enjolras couldn’t help that his lips twitched at that. When his bus still hadn’t got there ten minutes later he finally got up. “Fine,” he whispered. “No talking.”

“No talking,” Grantaire said, nodding eagerly.

They walked side by side then, and Enjolras really couldn’t help himself – he had to look over at Grantaire every now and again. He’d missed him, too, at least in the beginning. After a while missing him had turned into a dull ache that he’d just carried around with himself until it had eventually just gone away. Seven years were a long enough time to banish someone from your mind. Enjolras had done so as best as he could.

As promised, Grantaire didn’t utter a single word and the more they didn’t talk, the more questions came to Enjolras’ mind.

When they’d nearly reached his apartment, Enjolras gave in. “What are you even doing here?”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “We’re talking now?”

“We don’t have to,” Enjolras replied, rolling his eyes.

“I’m just visiting,” Grantaire said. “London was too cold and rainy.”

“So you were in London,” Enjolras mused. He’d guessed as much from what he’d overheard from his friends, but he’d never been sure.

Grantaire nodded. “I moved there a couple of years ago.”

Enjolras hummed lowly. “It’s cold and rainy here, too.”

Grantaire only smiled and Enjolras wanted to ask what was so amusing, but they’d made it to his place, so he thought it best not to.  

“Well, I live here,” he said instead.

“Oh… good night, then,” Grantaire mumbled, glancing up at the building. “I’ll see you around, I guess. Maybe on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Enjolras said. “Good night.” He walked up the steps to the door and watched as Grantaire started walking back to where they’d come from. “Grantaire,” he said.

Grantaire turned back around. “Yeah?”

“There’s a bus stop down the street if you don’t want to walk all the way back.”

“I’m fine,” Grantaire said. “Thanks, though.”

Enjolras nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket, then he looked up again. “Grantaire.”

He turned around once more and walked a few steps back towards him. “What?”

“I had dinner with my parents tonight,” Enjolras said. No, he hadn’t wanted to talk to Grantaire about this, but it was just so strange to see him walk away, so he’d had to say _something_.

Grantaire huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, those are usually a little… unpleasant.”

“They are,” Enjolras agreed. He chewed on his bottom lip. “Thanks for walking me home.”

“Sure thing,” Grantaire said and then turned around to leave.

Enjolras watched him go for a few seconds too long, then he finally unlocked the door and walked up the stairs to his and Combeferre’s apartment.

Combeferre was still up, quite obviously waiting for him, sitting on their couch with a cup of tea, watching a documentary, which he paused instantly when Enjolras sat down next to him.

Enjolras didn’t say a word. He wasn’t even sure where to start. He hadn’t had much time to talk to Combeferre about Grantaire, but by the time Enjolras had got home the night before, Combeferre had already known. Enjolras was pretty sure that Courfeyrac had either called him or sent him a text while he’d been on his way home.

Combeferre had asked how he felt about Grantaire being back and Enjolras really hadn’t had a good answer for him, and that had been it.

When Enjolras still hadn’t spoken a couple of minutes later, Combeferre leaned a little closer. “That bad?”

“I can’t even begin to tell you how bad it was,” Enjolras said lowly. “Cosette is probably going to kill me. I was way out of line and so was my dad, but still. She was angry, I could tell.”

“What happened?” Combeferre asked.

“I might have mentioned the affair that dad had with his secretary.”

Combeferre hummed thoughtfully. “And what did he say?”

“All kinds of things,” Enjolras mumbled. “The usual. Everything I do is a major disappointment, I should have chosen a different career, stuff like that.”

“I see,” Combeferre said, nodding slowly.

“I mean, it’s not like I wasn’t expecting it,” Enjolras went on. “I was just so angry because he wouldn’t leave me alone. That dinner wasn’t about me at all, it was about Cosette and Marius, and I just should have kept my mouth shut and endured it for once.”

“Well, you’re not the kind of person who just keeps their mouth shut,” Combeferre said with a smile.

“Maybe I should have tried to be for two hours,” Enjolras grumbled.

“Just apologize to Cosette,” Combeferre said. “She’ll forgive you, I’m sure.”

Actually Enjolras had apologized, and he’d meant to send her a text when he was at the Corinthe, but then Grantaire had shown up and he’d got a little sidetracked. “I ran into Grantaire,” he muttered.

“Wait, you ran into him today?”

“Just now, actually.”

Combeferre only blinked at him for a couple of seconds.

“He walked me home,” Enjolras continued.

“He walked you home?” Combeferre echoed. “How did that happen?”

“I was at the Corinthe and he was there, too. I don’t even know why, I guess someone must have told him about it. Probably Joly or Bossuet or both of them, who knows. Anyway, he tried to talk to me.”

“And did you talk?”

“Not really,” Enjolras said with a shrug. “My bus didn’t come, so he walked me home.”

“Okay,” Combeferre whispered. Apparently this wasn’t the standard _Combeferre knows what to say and do_ situation.

“He said he missed me,” Enjolras told him.

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. “And what did you say?”

“I don’t know, I don’t even remember, I was so angry. But now he’s staying, at least for a couple of weeks, and he’s probably going to come to the Musain on Wednesday.” Enjolras shrugged. “I have no idea what to do.”

Combeferre sighed. “Look, I know you’re not going to like this, but maybe you should talk to him.”

“About what?”

“About how angry you are,” Combeferre replied. “About how hurt you are.”

Enjolras huffed angrily. “I’m not hurt.”

“You were.”

“But I’m not anymore.”

“Well, I still think it wouldn’t be so bad if you talked to him. Invite him over. I can spend the evening with Courfeyrac and you two can talk things through. Or maybe you could meet in a more public setting, but it’s probably for the best if you yell at him within our own four walls.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“I’m not sure, Enjolras,” Combeferre said. “But you keep saying that you’re over him, and maybe you are, but it can’t hurt to get all those things off your chest. You know, all those things you’ve wanted to tell him when he left.”

“I’ll think about it.” Enjolras sighed as he stood up. “I guess I’ll go to bed.”

Combeferre wished him a goodnight, and not long after Enjolras had crawled into bed he could hear Combeferre pad down the hall as well.

Enjolras had trouble falling asleep that night, he tossed and turned, checked his emails in the dead of the night, and eventually fell asleep, but kept waking up, dreaming of Grantaire’s unabashed laughter and soft kisses and fingers curling around his. He woke up when the sun was barely up, blinking rapidly, his dream still incredibly vivid on his mind.

He cursed himself, his mind, for reminding him of what he’d had with Grantaire, let out a low groan and slinked over to the bathroom and took a very, very cold shower to somehow get himself to focus.

It wasn’t like there was anything he needed to focus on, though. It was Sunday morning and he had strangely little work to do, since he’d buried himself under a pile of work to distract himself from the dinner with his parents all week long.

After he’d had breakfast he made an attempt at tidying his room, which he was only moderately successful at, because he just owned too many books, and there were too many magazines lying around, too many loose sheets of paper that he had needed or still needed for one of the projects he was working on with his friends.

Combeferre glanced inside briefly, still wearing his pajamas and his hair sticking up, grinning at him, but vanished again, probably to read the morning paper.

Enjolras continued trying to make his room look a little less messy, even though it was getting later and later and Cosette was probably awake already and he should call her and apologize for what had happened at dinner one more time, but he chose to procrastinate for a little while longer.

He also tried to find some space in his closet, but then his eyes fell on one of the boxes in there, the one that he’d pushed to the very back, and decided that now was a good time to stop, otherwise he might get a stupid idea like opening that box.

Enjolras was just about to go see what Combeferre was doing when their doorbell rang. He called to Combeferre that he’d answer the door and quickly walked down the hall to yank open the door, finding his sister glaring up at him.

“Hi,” he muttered, taking a step back when she came walking inside.

“What the fuck, Enjolras,” Cosette said loudly. “Seriously, what the fuck.” Cosette had never been one to swear a lot, but once she got started, once she was angry enough, it was hard to stop her.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said. “I meant to call you but-”

“Did you _really_ have to bring up the damn secretary?” Cosette asked. “Really?”

Enjolras sighed. “I didn’t mean to, but he-”

“You know, I was expecting him to bring up shit like that, not you,” Cosette interrupted him again.

“I really am sorry.” Enjolras shrugged. “It’s not like I didn’t tell you, though.”

Cosette rolled her eyes. “Well, you didn’t have to contribute to the inevitable catastrophe. I don’t think they knew that we knew about the secretary.”

“Wife number three certainly didn’t know about her,” Enjolras said lowly.

Cosette snorted. “Yep, she was totally clueless.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Do you want to come have lunch with me and Marius? Combeferre can come, too, if he ever comes out of hiding.”

“I’m not hiding,” Combeferre called from the living room.

“Are you sure about that?” Cosette called back. “I’m not yelling at Enjolras anymore,” she added, grinning at Enjolras. “Sorry about that, by the way. I know he was acting like an ass, but you could have at least tried not to let him provoke you.”

“I guess I could have,” Enjolras agreed, smiling at Combeferre who’d apparently decided to join them.

Cosette waited patiently while they were both pulling on their coats, idly chattering about her kindergarteners, Combeferre soon joining in with stories about his own pupils.

Enjolras remained silent for most of their conversation, his eyes fixed on the pavement. Usually he would listen, but today he just couldn’t concentrate, his thoughts wandering back to Grantaire and what he’d said to him the night before.

He might come to their meeting next Wednesday. Enjolras and Courfeyrac would be talking about the fundraiser they were planning on doing, a charity run for homeless teenagers – Courfeyrac’s idea not his, since Enjolras absolutely despised running – and he had no idea how on earth he was supposed to concentrate on anything with Grantaire there.

Grantaire had always been good at distracting him and he–

“Earth to Enjolras,” Cosette said, waving her hands around in front of his face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, sorry,” Enjolras muttered. “I was just… thinking.”

“Thinking, huh?” Cosette asked, playfully elbowing him in the ribs. “About what?”

Enjolras only shrugged.

“He ran into Grantaire last night,” Combeferre said lowly.

“You ran into _Grantaire_?” Cosette asked, looking absolutely scandalized. “Grantaire is _here_? Oh my god, tell me everything.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Do you think he’s going to be there?” Enjolras asked Combeferre.

He was nervous. He was always a little nervous when he had to talk in front of people, but not when it was only his friends. They were the only ones who came to their meetings at the Musain, there weren’t any huge crowds, but tonight he was as nervous as if he had to deliver a speech in front of hundreds of people.

Combeferre looked at him, his expression thoughtful. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly, his brow furrowed. “Do you want him to be there or not, because I really can’t tell.”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras grumbled and slumped down at their kitchen table.

Combeferre sat down as well, humming lowly. “I assume you don’t really want to see him?” he said. “But you still want to talk to him?”

“No, I’ve never wanted to talk to him.”

“Yeah, I’m still not so sure about that.”

“I really don’t.” Enjolras shrugged. “He wanted to talk to me, but I… I’m done with this. With _him_.”

“So you don’t want him to be there because you think he might want to talk to you again?”

“I guess,” Enjolras muttered. He sighed. That wasn’t really it. Some part of him actually wanted to see Grantaire and talk to him and find out how he was doing and how everything was going for him. Enjolras wanted to ask him if he’d become an artist after all.

Of course Enjolras had thought about asking Jehan, or Joly, or Bossuet, they would have known what Grantaire was up to, but he’d tried his hardest not to do it.

“I’m going to tell you one more time,” Combeferre said, putting on his patient face, “and that will be the last time. I think you should talk to him. Even if you’re done with him, even if you have no feelings for him anymore, it would give you closure.”

Well, there were only very few times when Combeferre had been wrong. “Fine,” Enjolras muttered. “If he’s there, I’ll ask him if he has time to talk next weekend.”

* * *

“You’re aware that you’ve been staring at Grantaire for the past fifteen minutes and that you’re not being very subtle about it, right?” Courfeyrac asked lowly as he sat down next to Enjolras.

The official part of their meeting was over and now everyone was flocking around Grantaire, asking him how he’d been. Enjolras had stayed in his usual seat, had told Combeferre that he just wanted to take a few more notes and that he’d join them once he was done.

It was just that he hadn’t even _started_ taking notes. He had a pen and his notebook, but he’d got a little sidetracked when he’d tried to listen in on what Grantaire was telling their friends. He was talking about London, about where he lived, about the friends he’d made, about his work – at a design company. Enjolras had smiled at that. Even though Grantaire had then said that he’d quit that job, which was why he was here now, but still.

At some point he’d tuned out what Grantaire was saying, though, and had got a little caught up in staring at him. He’d thought no one would notice, but apparently he’d been dead wrong about that.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said when Enjolras didn’t reply, “why don’t you come and join us?”

“I have to…” Enjolras tapped on his notebook with his pen. “Maybe later.”

“You can’t just avoid him forever,” Courfeyrac whispered.

“I’m not _avoiding_ him,” Enjolras muttered. “It’s just strange that he’s back.”

“Yeah, but it’s kinda like he never left, don’t you think?” Courfeyrac asked, smiling over at their friends. Joly and Bossuet were telling a story now, accompanied with a reenactment of the whole thing, everyone around them laughing.

Enjolras only hummed, picking at the cover of his notebook. “I wanted to talk to him. Today after the meeting.”

“You said you met him last weekend, why didn’t you talk to him, then?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Because I was angry,” Enjolras replied. “It wasn’t a good time.”

He watched as Grantaire got up, still grinning, calling “I’ll be right back” as he walked outside.

“You could go talk to him now,” Courfeyrac said, nudging him gently.

Enjolras let out a huff of breath, looking at his friends who were still joking around, then at Courfeyrac, who was looking at him expectantly. “Fine,” Enjolras grumbled eventually and followed Grantaire out the door.

He looked back inside to see if his friends were watching, and of course they were, but at least they had the decency to quickly look away when he caught them staring.

Enjolras found Grantaire sitting on one of the chairs outside the café, smoking a cigarette, blowing smoke rings into the cold air. He sat down next to him, remaining silent for a few seconds, because he wasn’t sure how to start.

“You haven’t started smoking, have you?” Grantaire asked, his lips twitching into a smirk.

Enjolras shook his head.

“Thought not,” Grantaire mused. “Even Bahorel quit.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, nodding. “He did.”

“So, what are you doing out here, then?” Grantaire asked. He sounded a little wary now.

Enjolras took a deep breath. “We should talk,” he said. “About… I don’t know, it’s just that there are things we never got the chance to talk about and maybe we should. I know I said that I didn’t want to talk to you, but it’s probably not such a bad idea.”

“Not _your_ idea, I gather?” Grantaire asked, smiling again.

“Not exactly,” Enjolras muttered.

“Guess I should thank Combeferre,” Grantaire mumbled and took another drag of his cigarette. “So, anything in particular you’d like to talk about or should I just start apologizing for what a major fuck-up I am?”

Enjolras shook his head. “You’re…” he started, but then bit his lip. “Listen, maybe we shouldn’t do this right now. With our friends waiting for us inside.”

Grantaire hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose you already have a plan?”

“We could have dinner. There’s a nice Italian restaurant around the corner from my apartment. Or we could go anywhere, really. Whatever works best for you.”

“Oh, so you want to meet me in public so you won’t kill me?” Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“That’s not what I-”

“It’s okay,” Grantaire interrupted. “Friday’s fine. I’ll pick you up at your place. Is seven okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Grantaire kept smoking his cigarette, then, but glanced at Enjolras every now and again. Enjolras knew he should just go back inside, because he’d said what he’d come here to say and he was starting to get cold, but he felt that it would be rude of him to just walk away.

“Enjolras, you’re freezing, just go inside,” Grantaire muttered.

“I’m okay,” Enjolras grumbled. His fingers were cold as ice, but Grantaire didn’t need to know that.

“Seriously, I can tell that you’re freezing.”

“Fine,” Enjolras muttered. “See you inside.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes at him when he stood up. “And stop pretending that you’re working.”

Enjolras didn’t dignify that with an answer and stomped back inside.

* * *

Enjolras was ready much too early on Friday evening. He’d rushed home from work, hadn’t bothered to change, but had spent an embarrassingly long time staring at himself in the mirror, wondering if he should, but eventually decided against it The clothes he usually wore to work weren’t too fancy. He hadn’t felt like spending the rest of his life wearing suits.

Combeferre had caught him while he’d been fiddling with his hair, had given him a look, and Enjolras had stopped immediately. He’d known exactly what Combeferre must have been thinking.

“I’m going to Courfeyrac’s,” Combeferre had only said after staring at him for a few long seconds.

So now Combeferre was gone and Enjolras was standing by the window, staring down at the empty street, not sure if he was hoping Grantaire would show up soon or not at all.

Enjolras saw him approach soon enough. He was smoking again, but he quickly stubbed out his cigarette and then vanished from Enjolras’ view. The doorbell rang only a couple of seconds later and Enjolras pulled on his jacket, grabbed his keys and ran down the stairs to meet him.

Grantaire was standing on the steps, smiling at him uncertainly. “Hey, sorry, I’m a bit early.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Enjolras said quickly.

“Okay,” Grantaire said, nodding slowly. “So, are we still having dinner?”

Enjolras nodded. “If you still want to have dinner, that is.”

“Oh, definitely,” Grantaire said, following at Enjolras’ heels when he started walking. “I’m starving. All Jehan has in his kitchen is yoghurt and weird herbs.”

“Well, the Italian place down there is really good,” Enjolras said, pointing down the street.

“Thank fuck, I was actually fearing that you might take me to some shitty café to punish me,” Grantaire muttered.

Enjolras only rolled his eyes and they walked down to the restaurant in silence, Enjolras trying his hardest not to look over at Grantaire every few seconds or so.

The restaurant was fairy empty, so they took a seat by the window and before long Grantaire was occupied with reading the menu. It took him what seemed like ages, chewing on his bottom lip, humming thoughtfully every now and then. Enjolras didn’t even look at it anymore, he always ordered the same thing anyway. They used to come here a lot during their time at university – Courfeyrac had insisted that they needed to find a good Italian restaurant so he wouldn’t forget his heritage.

When Grantaire eventually decided that he was going to have pasta and Enjolras ordered “the usual”, Grantaire let out an undignified snort.

“What?” Enjolras asked once their waitress was out of earshot.

“The usual?” Grantaire grinned. “How often do you come here?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Every now and then.”

“Still not too fond of cooking, are you?” Grantaire asked, still smiling.

“It’s not like I got the chance to cook that much when we were at school,” Enjolras said. But it was true, he’d never liked cooking and he’d never been particularly good at it either. Nothing had changed about that.

“Right,” Grantaire said, slowly glancing around the restaurant. “Well,” he continued, looking back at Enjolras, “do you want to eat first and argue later?”

“I didn’t come here to argue,” Enjolras said lowly. “I want to _talk_.”

“And you’re a hundred percent sure that all that talking you’re planning on doing tonight isn’t going to result in one or more likely both of us getting angry?” Grantaire asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Grantaire, we’re not kids anymore. I’m pretty sure we can have a normal conversation without killing each other.”

“Just for the record, I never said anything about murder,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras laughed quietly. Maybe Grantaire did have a point. Enjolras was certain that he did have his temper under control, but it wouldn’t hurt to just make an attempt at pleasant small talk first. “Alright, let’s eat first and then we can talk.”

“Right, no talking until we’re done eating,” Grantaire said, nodding gravely.

“We can talk about…” Enjolras shrugged. “Something.”

“The weather,” Grantaire suggested. “It was sunny for about ten minutes today, that was nice, I mean, it was still cold as fuck, but hey, at least I didn’t drip all over Jehan’s apartment when I got home, I’m sure he was pretty happy about that.”

“Yeah, probably,” Enjolras agreed.

“You know, you used to be more talkative than this,” Grantaire mused. “Bad day at work?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Work was fine.”

“I read some of your articles,” Grantaire said, tilting his head. “You know, online. They’re good.” He cleared his throat. “You’re, um, a good writer.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras mumbled. He was actually a little surprised that Grantaire had gone looking for his articles. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in what I write about.”

“Well, it’s all very political, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Obviously you’re misguided in thinking that politicians are ever going to change, but you have strong opinions and your arguments are clear.” Grantaire winked at him. “Well, but that’s nothing new, is it?”

“I’m misguided?” Enjolras asked. He took a deep breath. “I’m certainly not the misguided one here. Things won’t change as long as the people don’t fight against their oppressors.”

“And you know so much about being oppressed?” Grantaire asked.

“I-” He bit his lip, smiling at their waitress when she set down their food on the table. He waited until she was gone again, then he turned back to Grantaire. “So you think I should keep quiet and accept things the way they are because I’m not oppressed enough?”

“No, Enjolras, that’s not what I’m saying,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. “Christ, you really haven’t changed at all.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Enjolras asked, his tone already bordering on exasperated. Grantaire hadn’t changed either – he was still obnoxious. And he wouldn’t stop looking at Enjolras with a strangely fond expression and Enjolras really needed him to stop.

“Nothing, just…” Grantaire picked up his fork, pointing at Enjolras’ plate with it. “Eat your pasta.”

Enjolras scowled at him but started eating his food, his eyes hardly ever leaving Grantaire.

“How’s your pasta?” Grantaire asked conversationally.

“It’s good,” Enjolras replied. “How’s yours?”

“It’s excellent.” Grantaire pushed his plate across the table. “You wanna try it?”

Enjolras nodded and let Grantaire have some of his own pasta in exchange and Grantaire started talking about his favorite pasta recipes.

“Did you pick that up in Rome?” Enjolras asked. He hadn’t meant for it to sound as snappy as it had come out, actually he was genuinely interested, but Grantaire’s face fell immediately.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said cautiously.

Enjolras pursed his lips. He needed to tread carefully now, otherwise this would really result in an argument. “And who taught you?” he asked.

“I lived next to this old lady and she taught me all kinds of stuff, I make mad lasagna, let me tell you that,” Grantaire said, the hint of a smile playing around his lips.

“And…” Enjolras really didn’t know what to ask next. There were so many things he wanted to know. “What did you do in Rome, I mean, you stayed there for a while, didn’t you?”

“You really don’t have to pretend that you’re interested,” Grantaire mumbled.

“I’m not pretending,” Enjolras said gruffly. “So, what did you do in Rome?”

“I painted a lot,” Grantaire said and tugged his fingers through his hair. “There was this guy, he was a street painter, and he taught me a lot. Italian, for example.”

“And afterwards you moved to Munich,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire looked down at the table, obviously not keen on meeting his eyes. “Venice first. I left Rome after about two years, then I went to Venice for a couple of months, then I moved to Germany. But I didn’t stay there for that long either because then I found that job in London. But I, um, I wrote you a letter from Munich, did you-”

“Yes, I got that letter,” Enjolras interrupted. _That_ he really didn’t want to talk about.

“Yeah, I figured,” Grantaire mumbled. “Enjolras, I’m really, really sorry. It was stupid of me to just leave and now I’d handle things differently, but I was dumb, I was a dumb kid, and there’s really no excuse and I’m just… I’m sorry.”

“I know that you’re sorry,” Enjolras said. Grantaire had said it often enough, it wasn’t like Enjolras didn’t believe him.

Grantaire ducked his head a little, the way he’d always done when his father had talked to him. For a couple of seconds, Enjolras felt like the most horrible person on the planet. “I know I can’t make up for what a huge ass I was,” Grantaire said.

“I never asked you to do that,” Enjolras replied.

“But I want to.” Grantaire let out a frustrated sigh. “Obviously things will never be the way they were back at school again, shit, I don’t want them to be, but couldn’t we at least try to be friends?”

“We could try,” Enjolras allowed, “but we were never really good friends to begin with.”

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Grantaire said, grinning now. “I always saved your ass in art class, don’t say that I wasn’t trying to be a good friend.”

Enjolras snorted. He’d almost forgotten about that. “Yeah, you did and I’ll be grateful for that until the end of time.”

Grantaire snorted. “Other than art class you weren’t all that bad, though.”

“I suppose.” Enjolras smiled. “You know, I thought I’d hate it at that school.”

“Well, what kid likes being shipped off to boarding school,” Grantaire said with a shrug.

“It didn’t turn out as bad as I thought it would,” Enjolras muttered. He’d met all his friends there. He’d met Grantaire. Looking back, those two years at boarding school had been a fantastic time.

Grantaire barked out a laugh. “Yeah, it was alright, I guess.” He started fiddling with his empty glass, the sleeve of his shirt sliding up his arm a little as he did, exposing the edges of a tattoo.

“Did you get another tattoo?” Enjolras asked curiously. He’d already started to reach out when he remembered that he couldn’t just take Grantaire’s hand and take a look, so he quickly dropped his hand into his lap.

“Yeah, a couple,” Grantaire said and pushed back both of his shirtsleeves, revealing colorful tattoos on both his arms.  There were words between the pictures, the tentacles of an octopus curling around one arm, a vine branch around the other.

“Oh,” was Enjolras’ incredibly eloquent reply.

Grantaire smirked and reached across the table, nodding at his right arm, where music notes were spiraling around his wrist and a little further up his arm. “That’s the one I got when we went to Paris during the summer, remember?”

“I remember,” Enjolras mumbled. He still wanted to reach out and trace the lines, just like he’d done when they’d still been at school together. Enjolras quickly cleared his throat, hoping that he wasn’t blushing, because this was downright embarrassing, and wracked his brains to find something else to talk about. “So,” he said, “you, um, you had a job in London?”

Grantaire nodded, pulling his sleeves back over his arms. “Yeah, it was a… design thing, but my boss was an ass, so I quit and now I have to find something new.”

“In London,” Enjolras said.

“Yes, in London,” Grantaire replied, smirking. “Don’t worry, I won’t get on your nerves full-time.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Enjolras grumbled. At least now that was cleared up. Grantaire wasn’t staying, he was really just visiting.

They didn’t stay for much longer, then. Grantaire talked about some of his friends in London, Enjolras found out that Grantaire had pretty much been in contact with everyone but him while he’d been gone – even Combeferre, apparently – and that Enjolras actually had nothing new to tell him.

“I seriously can’t believe that Courfeyrac and Jehan broke up, though,” Grantaire said as they walked out of the restaurant. “It’s been years and I still can’t believe it. When Jehan called me to tell me I thought he was trying to fuck with me.”

It had come as a surprise to Enjolras, too, to everyone, really, but at least the two of them had managed to still be friends after they’d broken up. “Yeah, I suppose they just wanted different things in the end,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah.”

They walked the rest of the way to Enjolras’ apartment in silence and Grantaire got a cigarette out of the pocket of his jacket, not lighting it yet, just tucking it behind his ear.

“Well, thanks for walking me home,” Enjolras said lowly. He hadn’t even questioned the fact that Grantaire had walked back here with him even though the bus stop was in the other direction.

“No problem,” Grantaire muttered.

“And maybe I’ll see you next Wednesday at the Musain?”

“Maybe,” Grantaire said, laughing. “I’ll think about it.”

Enjolras smiled. “Good.” He knew he should move now, because he was right outside the door to his building and he needed to walk up the steps and unlock the door and walk up to his apartment, but Grantaire hadn’t moved an inch either and was still looking up at him, a faint smile on his face.

Enjolras needed to move before he did something incredibly stupid.

Grantaire had told him that he’d missed him. Well, the truth was that Enjolras had missed Grantaire, too, he’d just done a really good job at ignoring it. And now Grantaire was back and they’d talked and maybe it was because they’d never really got the chance to actually say goodbye, but Enjolras caught himself thinking about kissing Grantaire. Just one last time.

“Well,” Grantaire whispered, “I should go.” He was still standing right next to Enjolras, though, completely still, and didn’t seem to have any intention to actually go.

Enjolras nodded, not moving either.

“Enjolras….” Grantaire said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, laughing lightly. “Really, I should, but I can’t when you’re looking at me like that, I really can’t.”

“Like what?” Enjolras asked.

“Like you used to,” Grantaire replied, an exasperated edge to his voice now.

Two hours ago Enjolras would have insisted that he’d want Grantaire to leave, that after they’d talked he wouldn’t want to spend any more time with him, but right now he wasn’t so sure anymore. He took a step closer, even though a tiny little voice at the back of his head was telling him not to, and somehow Grantaire had decided to meet him halfway.

Grantaire’s lips were on his before Enjolras could even think about what to do next. It was so easy to do this again, like those seven years had never happened, like they’d never been apart.

Neither of them wanted to be the one to pull away first, but when they did, Enjolras’ arms were still wrapped around Grantaire and Grantaire’s fingers where still tangled in Enjolras’ hair.

In retrospect, Enjolras wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking – if he’d been thinking at all.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” he asked Grantaire, and Grantaire only sighed and nodded.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Enjolras knew that he shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be kissing Grantaire, he shouldn’t wrap his arms around him to keep him close, he shouldn’t take him by the hand and lead him down the hall to his bedroom, shouldn’t kiss him again, and again, shouldn’t peel his clothes off, shouldn’t let Grantaire do the same in turn, shouldn’t guide him over to his bed.

The voice at the back of Enjolras’ head that kept telling him that he _shouldn’t_ was getting quieter by the second, though.

Grantaire was panting softly, writhing underneath him when Enjolras started kissing down his chest, his stomach, tracing the tattoos there with his lips, following the trail of dark hair down to his cock.

It had been a while for Enjolras, a long while, since he’d last been with someone. It had been during his last year of university, a week before finals had started, and he’d been out looking for some kind of distraction. Enjolras had come to regret it only a few minutes in – it hadn’t been the most pleasant experience, to put it mildly.

But with Grantaire it wasn’t like that at all. Maybe it was because he knew him so well, knew exactly where to plant his kisses, knew what he liked, knew how to make him moan and plead.

He smiled up at Grantaire, lightly kissed the tip of his cock, never breaking eye contact, relishing every little sound Grantaire made. Fingers crept into his hair, pulling lightly at first, then a little harder, making him moan.

Enjolras crawled back up so he could kiss Grantaire again, which was when Grantaire gripped him by the hips and toppled him over, rolling on top of him in one swift motion. He smiled down at him and carefully brushed a strand of hair out of Enjolras’ face. “You didn’t cut your hair,” Grantaire mumbled, winding the loose curl around his finger.

“Why would I?” His father would have been delighted if he’d cut his hair and Enjolras usually did his best not to give his father any reason to be delighted.

Grantaire smirked. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he mumbled and bent down to kiss the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose, the line of his jaw. “Do you have condoms?” he whispered against Enjolras’ skin.

Enjolras should say no, he should put an end to this. He could always apologize and tell Grantaire he hadn’t been thinking straight. Grantaire wouldn’t be angry, Enjolras knew, he still remembered how careful he’d been not to overstep any of boundaries when they’d first got together.

Grantaire’s fingers danced down his sides, making him shiver. “Enjolras? You okay?”

“In the top drawer,” Enjolras muttered eventually, nodding at his bedside table. For a second, he was glad that Courfeyrac had talked him into making sure that he was always prepared for all eventualities and had convinced him to buy condoms, even though he had absolutely no need for them.

Grantaire quickly sat up and fetched one, along with the lube, drawing in a deep breath. Enjolras did the same, because he’d somehow been too preoccupied with his thoughts to actually remember such a simple thing as breathing.

He should probably tell Grantaire that he hadn’t done this in a while, that he was nervous, that he–

“Relax,” Grantaire whispered, effectively interrupting his train of thought, slowly letting his fingers trail over the soft skin of Enjolras’ thighs. “I’ll go slow, yeah?”

Enjolras nodded, his mind going completely blank with pleasure when Grantaire started preparing him. He’d always been good at this, really, it was unfair how good he was at reducing Enjolras to an incoherent mess and it seemed that he’d got even better at it over the years.

He was dimly aware that he should probably be embarrassed about the noises that were coming out of his mouth, but it was actually nothing that Grantaire hadn’t heard before.

Grantaire took his sweet time and after a while Enjolras wasn’t even sure if he was glad about it anymore, he was starting to get impatient, maybe a little desperate as well, tried to urge Grantaire to hurry up and was rewarded with fingers curled just right – after that he let Grantaire have his way.

Grantaire kept his thrusts shallow at first, but Enjolras was too close much too soon anyway. Grantaire didn’t even have to touch his cock to make him come, his head thrown back and his fingernails digging into Grantaire’s skin. Grantaire’s hips stuttered as he came, too, clinging to Enjolras for a little while longer, his head tucked into the crook of his neck, his breath coming quickly, tickling Enjolras’ skin.

Eventually, Grantaire pulled away with a whispered “fuck”, tucking the bedsheets around Enjolras before he stumbled out of bed to dispose of the condom.

Enjolras watched him with half-lidded eyes as he moved about the room, but was wide awake again when Grantaire picked up his jacket. He knew he shouldn’t be disappointed that Grantaire was going to leave so soon, he should have been expecting it, but then Grantaire only fished a pack of cigarettes out of it and let the jacket fall back onto the floor.

“Not in here,” Enjolras said sternly.

Grantaire grinned. “Figured as much,” he muttered and waltzed over to the window, still gloriously naked, and yanked it open.

Enjolras kept his eyes on him as Grantaire lit his cigarette, soon blowing smoke rings into the cool night air. Enjolras tried to imagine him sit there in the future, wrapped in a blanket with snow piling up on the windowsill, on a Sunday morning, bright and early, on a hot summer evening with the sun slowly setting behind him – he could see it, but too many things had happened between them for it to actually work out. 

“This was…” Enjolras paused. It wasn’t like it hadn’t been absolutely breathtaking, but he still needed to make sure that Grantaire understood that this could never happen again, not if Enjolras wanted to keep the last bit of his sanity. He sighed. “I mean, maybe we shouldn’t have…”

“Yeah,” Grantaire whispered and stubbed out his cigarette. “We really shouldn’t have.”

“We can be friends,” Enjolras said, and he hated how much it actually sounded like a question. But Grantaire had suggested it earlier, so maybe they should just give it a try.

Grantaire smiled, closed the window and padded back over to the bed. “We can,” he said, the mattress shaking when he sat down at Enjolras’ feet. “We’ll be friends.”

“And that’s it,” Enjolras said lowly.

“That’s it,” Grantaire agreed, letting himself fall backwards onto the mattress. “I’ll fuck off in a couple of minutes, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Enjolras muttered and held up the blanket, a silent invitation.

Grantaire wiggled under the sheets with a happy sigh. “How friendly of you,” he said, smiling faintly, “but I guess that’s what friends do… they don’t let their buck-naked friend freeze to death.”

“Exactly,” Enjolras said lowly.

Grantaire hummed contently and let his eyes flutter shut. “Hey, Enjolras,” he said, “now that we’re friends…”

“Yeah?” Enjolras prompted.

“Cosette asked if I was going to come back when she gets married,” Grantaire said, cracking an eye open. “I told her I had to ask you for permission first. Because I wasn’t sure if you wanted me there.”

“Of course you can come,” Enjolras muttered.

“Good.” Grantaire let out a sigh. “I’ll save you a dance.”

“I don’t dance,” Enjolras grumbled. Although he had a feeling that Cosette would probably force him to dance with her at least once and saying no to her definitely wasn’t an option.

“Aw, come on, dance with your friend Grantaire.” He rolled onto his stomach, grinning up at him. “I’ll lead, all you have to do is follow. Although you’re not particularly good at following.”

“I can if I have to,” Enjolras said gruffly.

“We’ll definitely test that theory,” Grantaire said cheerfully.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You’ll probably forget about it until the wedding anyway.”

“Oh no, I won’t. I’ll write it down. I’ll set a reminder on my phone.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Enjolras said, smiling despite himself.

“I know,” Grantaire retorted and stuck out his tongue at him. “Well,” he added, “I’ll get out of your hair now, _bro_.”

“Please don’t call me bro ever again,” Enjolras said, making a face.

“Pal?” Grantaire tried, grinning as he hopped out of bed and started pulling on his clothes. “Mate?”

Well, at least Grantaire seemed to be completely fine with them just being friends. Enjolras still felt like he needed to throw a pillow at him. “Stop it.”

Grantaire snorted and ducked down, staying there for a while and reappearing fully dressed. “Well,” he said, scratching his head, “I’ll see you soon, I guess?”

“Come to the Musain next Wednesday,” Enjolras suggested.

“Really? You want me at your meeting?” Grantaire asked, raising his eyebrows. “Well, if I get an official invitation, I probably have to show up.” He turned to leave, but hovered in the doorway for a couple of seconds. “Hey, Enjolras…”

“Yeah?” Enjolras asked.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said. “I pulled this shit on you and then I came back and now this happened, and I know you’re perfectly capable of saying no, but I’m sorry. About everything.”

Enjolras sighed. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Grantaire mumbled. “We both know that it’s not, you even said so the other day. It’s really not okay. You’re just saying it is because you don’t want to start a fight.”

“Just… leave it alone, okay?” Enjolras said. He didn’t exactly feel like dwelling on the past right now. He was exhausted and wanted to sleep, he didn’t want to think about what an idiot he was for allowing this to happen.

“Fine,” Grantaire said. “Don’t say I never apologized.”

Enjolras didn’t reply, because, to be honest, nothing Grantaire could say would ever make _everything_ okay between them. Enjolras wouldn’t hold a grudge. They’d be friends. That was all he could offer.

He did feel a little bad for not taking Combeferre’s advice to actually talk about it, but it was probably for the best.

“Sleep well,” Grantaire whispered, a small smile flitting across his face before he vanished from view.

Enjolras listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall and soon he could hear the front door fall shut. He took a few deeps breaths, then he slipped out of bed, started pulling off his sheets, took a shower, put on fresh sheets and curled up under the covers.

He very nearly called Combeferre before he fell asleep, but he was probably fast asleep on Courfeyrac’s couch right now. Enjolras could talk to him in the morning.

* * *

Enjolras was already wide awake when Combeferre got back home. He’d passed the time by checking his emails – nothing that couldn’t wait – and reading the news.

He listened as Combeferre dropped his keys into the bowl by the door, then there was some rustling and quiet footsteps, followed by a tentative knock on his door.

“Come in,” Enjolras called, already scooting over to make room for Combeferre.

“Good morning,” Combeferre said, smiling at him. He was carrying a brown paper bag and a tray with two cups of coffee, which he handed to Enjolras before he made himself comfortable. “I figured you were still in bed and hadn’t had breakfast yet.”

“You are such a good friend,” Enjolras whispered and took a sip of his coffee.

“So,” Combeferre said, taking the other cup, “how did it go with Grantaire?”

“Alright,” Enjolras muttered.

“Did you argue?” Combeferre asked, not actually managing to sound like he wasn’t dying with curiosity.

“Not really,” Enjolras replied. He needed to tell Combeferre, he really did, otherwise he’d probably explode.

“So you talked?”

“We did.” Enjolras nodded slowly. “Combeferre…” He took a deep breath. “I slept with him.”

Combeferre froze, coffee halfway on its way to his mouth. “What?”

“Don’t worry, I changed the sheets,” Enjolras mumbled.

“I wasn’t worried about the sheets,” Combeferre said. “How on earth did that happen?”

Enjolras shrugged helplessly. “It just did.”

“But you were angry at him.”

“I was angry at him seven years ago,” Enjolras said defensively.

“You were angry at him less than seven days ago, Enjolras,” Combeferre retorted.

Well, he did have a point. “I just… he was there and he was… I honestly have no idea what I was thinking, but it’s okay now, we talked and we agreed that it was a mistake. We’re going to be friends.”

“Friends,” Combeferre echoed. “Just like that?”

Enjolras bit his lip. “He wanted to talk about it. About what happened.”

“And you brushed him off.” It wasn’t even a question.

“He apologized,” Enjolras mumbled.

“I didn’t think you’d find it so easy to forgive him,” Combeferre mused. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you two decided to be friends, but I didn’t think it would be quite so easy.”

Quite frankly, it really wasn’t. He and Grantaire had found something to argue or at least bicker about every other day and Enjolras highly doubted that that had changed. “Well, we’re going to try.”

“Good,” Combeferre said, “that’s good.” He pulled a croissant out of the paper bag and handed it to Enjolras. “Be careful, okay?”

“It was just sex, Combeferre,” Enjolras said. It felt strange saying it. It somehow sounded wrong. “That’s it. Maybe we just needed to… get it out of our systems or something, who knows. But I’m not falling in love with him, I’m not interested in being anything other than his friend, I swear. You really don’t need to worry about me.”

“No, you misunderstand. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, I just meant, be careful, whichever decision you make.”

“There’s nothing to decide,” Enjolras said. “Getting back together with him isn’t an option. It never was.”

“If you say so,” Combeferre said. “I’m here either way.”

“I know,” Enjolras mumbled and took a bite of his croissant. “Thank you,” he added, merely a whisper, and leaned his head on Combeferre’s shoulder. “Did you have a good time with Courfeyrac?”

Combeferre didn’t reply, even though Enjolras was fairly certain that he must have heard him.

“Did you… have a _bad_ time with Courfeyrac?” he asked.

“It was strange.”

“Strange? Strange how?”

“Have you ever questioned… something about yourself?”

Enjolras frowned. He wasn’t really sure what Combeferre was getting at. “Like what?”

“Like…” Combeferre paused, obviously thinking. “For example, you’re gay. And you’ve known that for a long time, but have you ever considered that you might not be gay?”

“I never thought I was straight if that’s what you mean.”

“Well, it’s not like there’s only one and the other,” Combeferre mumbled, still looking thoughtful.

“I know,” Enjolras said, “I’m just not sure what you’re talking about.”

Combeferre sighed. “Right, let me explain. Remember when we met and Courfeyrac told you that I was asexual? Not as explicitly, but that’s what he told you.”

“Oh…” Enjolras thought that maybe now he was starting to understand. “And you’re saying that you’re not asexual after all?”

“No, I am,” Combeferre said, “but what I always thought was that I’m not interested in any kind of relationship and now I’m starting to think that that might not be the case. What if I’m romantically interested in people and never noticed?”

“Wait a second,” Enjolras said slowly. “I get what you’re trying to say, but you realized that when you were with Courfeyrac?” Enjolras eyed him, raising an eyebrow. “Does that mean-”

“I don’t know,” Combeferre interrupted. He sighed. “I have no idea what that means.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Alright, before Joly, Bossuet and Grantaire fuck off to the Corinthe because our company isn’t good enough for them,” Courfeyrac said, looking around the Musain with a grin, “I just wanted to let you know that I’m throwing a little engagement party for Marius and Cosette on Saturday and before anyone asks, yes, I’ve told them about it and they’re _actually_ coming.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. It wasn’t exactly his fault that he’d never made it to the party that Courfeyrac had thrown him for his twenty-first birthday.

Courfeyrac patted him on the head and went on, “I’ll take care of everything, all you have to do is show up. I also invited Feuilly.”

That prompted hoots and cheers all around the room – Enjolras wasn’t even sure when they’d last seen Feuilly, because Feuilly usually showed up whenever he felt like it. They all knew him from their time at boarding school, but Feuilly had quit his job there a couple of years ago and now he just moved around a lot.

He worked wherever he could find a job and they all tried their best to stay in touch with him as best as they could. Enjolras occasionally invited him to their events and a couple of times he’d actually made it.

“Party starts at eight, there’ll be food,” Courfeyrac called over the excited chatter.

“And drinks?” Joly asked, clapping his hands excitedly.

“Obviously,” Courfeyrac said with a wink.

Grantaire, who had spent the entire meeting quietly sitting in a corner, only making faces every now and then that Enjolras had done his best to ignore, patted Courfeyrac’s back. “I can’t wait to see Feuilly, I haven’t seen him since we graduated.”

“I know, man, it’s been so long,” Bossuet said, shaking his head with a sad expression.

A discussion about how old they’d all got followed suit, but Enjolras only listened with half an ear, his mind still on all the phone calls he needed to make the next day to make sure their charity run in two weeks wouldn’t turn out to be a completely catastrophe.

They’d spent half the meeting trying to figure out who was going to do what and for some reason Grantaire had offered to get them a banner for the start and finish line. Enjolras was still a little confused about why Grantaire would want to help them – maybe he felt like he needed to prove that they really were friends.

In any case, Enjolras could use all the help they could get.

“We aren’t really that old, are we?” Courfeyrac muttered lowly. “I’m twenty-five, that’s not old.”

Combeferre snorted. “Look who’s having a crisis.”

“It’s not a _crisis_ ,” Courfeyrac muttered. “I’m just saying, we’re not that old. We’re young, we should go out,” he added, nodding to himself, “we should go out and buy some drinks, Combeferre.”

“Drinks,” Combeferre echoed.

“Yeah, we should all go to the Corinthe,” Courfeyrac said, throwing his arm around Combeferre. “What do you think?”

“I have work tomorrow,” Combeferre muttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his eyes briefly meeting Enjolras’. Enjolras remembered their talk last Sunday all too well and even though Combeferre hadn’t brought it up again, Enjolras could tell that he was always a little more preoccupied than usual.

“I was afraid you’d say that, grandpa.” Courfeyrac gave Combeferre a pat on the back. He turned to Enjolras, wiggling eyebrows.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I’m going home.”

“Fine, waste your youth with sleeping,” Courfeyrac said, sighing dramatically. “But don’t you two dare try to get out of coming to my party.”

“We’ll come to the party,” Enjolras promised. It probably wouldn’t be all that bad. There’d be loads and loads of food and they’d probably end up playing board games at some point and it’d be just like every other time that he met up with his friends.

Enjolras briefly glanced at Grantaire before he got up to leave and Grantaire smiled at him a little uncertainly. Enjolras smiled back at him, feeling like he should probably say something to him, but wasn’t sure what to say without making things awkward, so he just pulled on his coat and waved goodbye to everyone.

* * *

“Are you hiding in my kitchen?”

Enjolras looked up and found Courfeyrac standing in the doorway – he was wearing two party hats, there was a feather boa slung around his neck and he was looking at Enjolras disapprovingly.

Enjolras shook his head, holding up his phone. “Just a work thing.”

Obviously there was no work thing. Enjolras had made it a habit to hide out in less frequented rooms at parties. Even during their time at university Enjolras had never turned into a party person – much to Courfeyrac’s disappointment.

He’d dutifully worn a party hat for about fifteen minutes before the rubber band had started to irk him and he’d taken it off, he’d made sure to steer around any kind of drink as best as he could, had talked to his friends for a bit, but then he’d felt like he needed a break and had retreated to the kitchen.

“I can’t blame you, Bahorel and Feuilly are starting to take Rock Band a little too seriously,” Courfeyrac muttered and sat down next to him.

“I’m not hiding,” Enjolras grumbled.

“Sure,” Courfeyrac said and took a sip of his beer. “So…” he added after a while, “you and Grantaire…”

“What about me and Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, maybe a little too harshly. He’d overheard Grantaire telling Joly and Bossuet about some girl he’d met at some bar the night before. It wasn’t that Grantaire couldn’t do whatever he wanted to do, really, Enjolras had no reason to be upset, but he definitely wasn’t in the mood to talk about him right now.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Something’s weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Grantaire,” Courfeyrac said, “you’re both being weird.”

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” Enjolras mumbled. He just really didn’t know what the hell to say to Grantaire, so he’d chosen not to talk to him at all. Grantaire hadn’t seemed to be too keen on striking up a conversation either.

“You argued, didn’t you?” Courfeyrac asked. “And when you said that you talked to him and that you agreed on being friends, you were lying.”

Enjolras groaned. “I wasn’t lying.”

Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes. “Then why are you avoiding him?”

“I’m really not avoiding him,” Enjolras said intently.

“Well, something is definitely weird.”

Enjolras didn’t reply.

“Come on, Enjolras, Uncle Courf can help you,” Courfeyrac whispered and gave him a nudge. “Seriously, you can tell me.”

Once again, Enjolras remained silent.

“But you obviously don’t want to, so I’ll shut up and leave you be.” It almost sounded like he was sulking.

Enjolras watched as Courfeyrac slowly stood up to leave. He let out a weary sigh. “Courfeyrac…”

“Yes?” Courfeyrac turned back around immediately, beaming at him.

Enjolras bit his lip, not sure where to start. “I slept with him,” he whispered eventually, staring down at the tiled floor because he couldn’t possibly look at Courfeyrac right now. “And I just don’t know how to talk to him right now, okay?”

“Holy shit,” Courfeyrac said loudly, but quickly clamped his hands over his mouth. “Holy fucking shit, how was it?” he asked, his voice quiet now.

For a second, Enjolras wanted to laugh. Well, at least this wouldn’t be another serious discussion about whether or not he had a future with Grantaire and what sort of impact this had on their relationship. Obviously Enjolras was glad for Combeferre’s down-to-earth commentary, but maybe this was something he needed to talk about, too.

“It was good,” Enjolras said lowly. He hoped to god that there was no one outside the door listening to them.

“Good,” Courfeyrac repeated, nodding. “Just good? Or maybe fantastic?”

“Maybe fantastic,” Enjolras allowed. “Look, it was just-”

“A one time thing?” Courfeyrac asked knowingly.

“Yes, exactly.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Enjolras asked. It had been his decision as well as Grantaire’s.

Courfeyrac sighed. “Remember what I said about leftover feelings? I mean, when you slept with him, didn’t you remember how much you loved being with him?”

Enjolras shrugged. He’d most certainly remembered, but that didn’t change a thing. “Sure, but we’re still seven years older now and it’s not like we’re going to magically forget about our differences and ride off into the sunset,” he grumbled.

“So you’re really just friends now?” Courfeyrac asked. If Enjolras didn’t know any better, he’d almost think that Courfeyrac looked disappointed.

“Yes,” Enjolras confirmed. “Really just friends.”

“And you don’t want to be anything else?”

Right, this was slowly but surely turning into the conversation that Enjolras had already had with Combeferre and he had no desire to repeat it. “There really is no other option,” Enjolras told him. “Other than just going back to the way things were before and just not talking to him at all, I mean.”

Courfeyrac looked at him thoughtfully for a couple of seconds. “I see.”

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Courfeyrac peeling off the label of his beer bottle, Enjolras staring at nothing in particular.

“So,” Courfeyrac said all of a sudden, making Enjolras jump.

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Yes?”

“I’m just wondering,” Courfeyrac said, his voice a mere whisper, “since you live with Combeferre, did he… I just thought that maybe he said something? Did he say anything to you?”

“About…?” Enjolras asked. He did have a pretty good idea of what this could be about, but right now was definitely the wrong time to jump to conclusions.

“Well, we were hanging out the other day,” Courfeyrac said, keeping his eyes on Enjolras, who somehow managed to keep a straight face. “But hey, he obviously didn’t mention it, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Did something happen?” Enjolras asked cautiously.

“No,” Courfeyrac said – maybe a little too quickly. He shook his head. “No, no, nothing happened.”

“Then why are you asking?” He was starting to think that there might be some things that Combeferre had _forgotten_ to mention the other day. And he was starting to get really curious now. Something very, very strange was going on here.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “I just thought he might have mentioned _something_.” He looked a little pouty for a couple of seconds, but he quickly caught himself and smiled at Enjolras. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, it wasn’t a big deal. Just forget I said anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Courfeyrac nodded quickly, his smile a little too cheerful to be real. “Well, I’ll leave you to hiding in my kitchen,” he added and stood up. “Don’t stay here all evening, okay?”

“Okay,” Enjolras mumbled, still planning on hiding out right here until he was allowed to go home.

Courfeyrac grinned and made an attempt at ruffling Enjolras’ hair, leaving him with a messy mop on his head. Enjolras untied his bun, combing through his curls in an attempt to get rid of the knots.

That was how Grantaire found him only a couple of minutes later – muttering angrily under his breath, his fingers tangled in his own hair.

“I feel like I just walked in on something that I really shouldn’t see,” Grantaire said, smirking as he opened the fridge.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. There was no need to dignify that with a response.

Grantaire snorted and grabbed a bottle of beer, then he walked over to Enjolras, his eyes narrowed. “Do you need help?”

“I’m good,” Enjolras mumbled.

“You know, Jehan taught me how to do french braids,” Grantaire went on, taking a seat next to him, regarding him for a long minute. “Still not a party animal?”

Enjolras only gave him a look.

“Yeah, sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have brought that up,” Grantaire muttered. He was starting to tap his fingers on the table and for a second Enjolras wondered if he still played the guitar. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine, I just don’t see the point in getting mindlessly drunk and passing out on Courfeyrac’s living room floor. I just wanted to be alone for a couple of minutes,” Enjolras said, trying his hardest not to sound too exasperated.

Going by Grantaire’s face, he hadn’t actually managed.

“Sorry,” Grantaire said again. He took a sip of his beer, watching Enjolras all the while.

Enjolras reached for the label that Courfeyrac had peeled off his beer earlier, fiddling with it because he wasn’t sure what else to do. He’d convinced himself that they could get along if they tried, but now he couldn’t even think of anything to talk about other than the weather.  

Grantaire sighed. “Why are things always so awkward after we’ve had sex?” he asked.

“Always?” Enjolras echoed. He could remember a couple of times when things hadn’t been awkward at all. But that was hardly the point.

“Well,” Grantaire said, laughing lowly, “the first time it was pretty awkward.”

“Maybe a little,” Enjolras allowed. Years ago they’d spent a couple of days in Paris, it had been the first time they’d really been alone together and neither of them had had any idea what they were doing, but they’d figured things out quickly enough and had hardly set foot outside their hotel room in the end.

Grantaire smiled faintly and for some reason Enjolras was completely certain that he was thinking about the exact same thing. “Look, maybe we just need some time to get used to that whole friends business,” Grantaire mumbled eventually. “I mean, I’m going back to London in like two weeks anyway, so-”

“You’re going back already?”

“I can’t sleep on Jehan’s couch forever,” Grantaire said with a wink. “Anyway I’m still paying for a flat in London, an incredibly shitty flat, but you know, it’s expensive as fuck, so I should probably spend some time there. And maybe find a new job so I can actually pay for it.”

“Right,” Enjolras said, nodding slowly. He’d forgotten that Grantaire actually had a whole life in London that he needed to get back to.

Grantaire gave him a look that could only be described as wary, then he continued, “Jehan said he knows a guy who works for a publicity agency and they sometimes look for designers, but…”

“But?” Enjolras prompted.

“But I like London and I have an apartment and friends there,” Grantaire said simply.

“You have friends here, too.” It was strange, but Enjolras actually thought that he probably wouldn’t mind having Grantaire around.

Grantaire laughed. “Yeah, I know. But I’m still going back in two weeks. But I’ll still come around every now and then.” He nudged Enjolras’ foot under the table. “Come on, let’s get back to the party. Feuilly’s out there, you always liked hanging out with Feuilly.”

“But they’re playing Rock Band,” Enjolras protested. He’d already talked to Feuilly anyway. They’d decided to meet for lunch the next day, because it had been a little hard to have a proper conversation when Bahorel was handing out food over their heads and Courfeyrac was trying to deliver a speech about the happy couple that actually hadn’t looked too happy about being in the center of attention.

“So? It’s not like _you_ have to play,” Grantaire said and grabbed his arm to pull him off his chair. “We can talk about the horrid state of the world if that would make you happy.”

“I’d rather not, thank you,” Enjolras grumbled. He knew exactly how that conversation would end.

“Well, we could also talk about the face that Marius made when Courfeyrac said the words _stag party_ earlier…”


	7. Chapter 7

“Combeferre,” Enjolras said, slowly approaching their kitchen table.

Combeferre was reading the paper, still in his pyjamas and halfway through his first cup of coffee. Enjolras knew he had to tread carefully now, because Combeferre loved his quiet Sunday mornings and Enjolras was probably about to ruin this one for him.

He had to talk to him now, though, because he was meeting Feuilly for lunch later and who knew how long that was going to take. As far as Enjolras was concerned, Feuilly was part of his family and this wasn’t just some quick meeting to catch up. They tended to really get caught up in their conversations and usually they both had too many stories to share and too little time to tell them, so Enjolras was pretty sure that he was going to get home late.

Enjolras sat down opposite of Combeferre, waiting until he’d put down the paper and looked at him over the rim of his glasses. “Yes?”

“What happened really?” Enjolras asked. “Between you and Courfeyrac?”

“I don’t know what…” Combeferre trailed off, shaking his head ever so slightly. “It really wasn’t a big deal. Or maybe you wouldn’t think it was,” he explained as he leaned back in his chair. “We held hands. We were watching a movie and I took his hand. It was basically my fault and I’m honestly still not sure why I did it.”

Enjolras only blinked at him, a little dumbfounded. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“It felt nice, holding his hand,” Combeferre went on, his voice low. He sighed. “We both know what Courfeyrac is like, he likes to hug people and he’s very… _physical_ with his affections. But not with me. He’s always been very careful to respect my boundaries and I did appreciate it. I _do_ appreciate it. As I said, I have no idea why I did it. It just felt right at that point.”

“At that point,” Enjolras repeated. “But not anymore?”

“Well, I think Courfeyrac was confused. So was I, for that matter.” Combeferre shrugged. “I’m afraid that he got the wrong idea. And he’s obviously upset about it or at least he’s confused, that’s why we’re having this conversation. Because he asked you about it.”

Enjolras chose to ignore that last part. “And what idea would that be?”

Combeferre pursed his lips. “That I want to… Honestly, I’m not so sure, because I don’t even really know what I want myself. I just don’t want Courfeyrac to think that I could be in a relationship with him when I’m not certain if I can.” Combeferre stared down into his coffee for a couple of seconds. “Not that Courfeyrac ever said anything about wanting to be in a relationship,” he added, his voice low. “There’s just been a lot on my mind lately and now I’m trying to say it all at once.”

“’Ferre,” Enjolras said, gently nudging Combeferre’s foot, “you know that you can talk to me anytime, right?”

“Of course I know,” Combeferre said, smiling at him. “But you have your own problems to deal with and you have enough on your mind already.”

“I don’t have any _problems_ ,” Enjolras said sternly. Everything was perfectly fine.

“I meant at work.” Combeferre raised his eyebrows. “You seemed rather stressed all week and you always got home so late. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You should have bothered me,” Enjolras told him. He’d mostly been busy trying to find some more backers for their charity run and he was incredibly pleased with the outcome and between the phone calls and the emails he would have definitely managed to find some time for Combeferre.

“I’m sure this won’t be the last time we talked about this,” Combeferre mused and took a sip of his coffee.

“Well, you know where to find me,” Enjolras said. “I’m having lunch with Feuilly in a bit, do you want to come?”

Combeferre smiled. “Maybe some other time.”

* * *

“Combeferre,” Enjolras said as he marched into Combeferre’s room, “I’m going to ask you a question and I need you to be honest with me.”

Combeferre turned around, looking at him with an unfathomable expression. At least he hadn’t burst out laughing yet, but Combeferre had always been good at hiding how he really felt. “Yes?”

Enjolras pointed at his running shorts. “Are these too tight?”

Combeferre tilted his head. “How exactly would you definite _too tight_?”

“Too tight as in _indecent_ ,” Enjolras said. He hadn’t worn those shorts in years and he somehow hadn’t bothered to try them on beforehand.

Now it was the day of the charity run and Enjolras didn’t really have too many other options. It wasn’t like he was going to do a lot of running, he’d mainly be busy making sure that everything was going smoothly and maybe he’d talk to some reporters who’d come to cover the run, but still, he wanted to look like he could participate if he wanted to.

“Well, I wouldn’t call them indecent,” Combeferre said, still looking thoughtful. “But they are certainly very tight.”

Enjolras let out a long-suffering sigh. He wandered back to his own room to look for some kind of alternative, didn’t find anything and didn’t have the time to come up with anything else because Combeferre came to tell him that they needed to leave – so he’d have to spend hours wearing nearly skintight shorts.

Courfeyrac, irritatingly cheerful for a Saturday morning, greeted Enjolras with a low whistle when he and Combeferre arrived at the park where their charity run was going to take place. “Enjolras, you–”

“Do not,” Enjolras interrupted, glowering at Courfeyrac.

“Aw darling, haven’t you had your morning coffee yet?” Courfeyrac asked, patting him on the back. “Go say hello to Bahorel, he’s already started setting up, I bet he has coffee for you.”

Enjolras didn’t reply, but trudged off to Bahorel, who was busy setting up a table with free drinks, but immediately handed him some coffee with a shit-eating grin on his face.

The rest of their group arrived not too much later – at least the ones who were able to make it – and everything seemed to actually be going according to plan. Enjolras finally felt like he was able to breathe again for about ten minutes until Joly and Bossuet managed to rip one of the strings that were supposed to hold up the banner that Grantaire had made and they had to improvise.

Grantaire himself was nowhere to be found. Joly and Bossuet had only brought the banner – which was beautifully done and everything Enjolras could have hoped for – and he probably shouldn't have expected Grantaire to actually show up. Enjolras shouldn’t be surprised and he most definitely shouldn’t be disappointed.

He soon forgot all about Grantaire when the first runners started showing up, though. Courfeyrac had told him that a lot of people had responded to the invites that he’d sent out on Facebook, but Enjolras would have never thought that there’d be so many.

He spent ages shaking hands and thanking people for their participation, talked to journalists about the charities they were planning on donating money to, about their causes, about what they were trying to accomplish – he hoped his father would see him on the evening news, although he doubted that they’d get this much attention. That footage would most likely end up as an online video, but at least they’d got some kind of recognition.

Later on Enjolras went to check in with Combeferre, who’d been assigned to sign-ups and was now sitting on the sidelines, cheering for everyone who ran past him together with Joly, who couldn’t run because he kept having problems with his leg ever since he’d injured it two years ago. Courfeyrac and Bossuet had joined the other runners, though, and Bahorel was busy handing out water bottles. Jehan was probably still holding the fort at the Musain.

“I’m not sure what exactly you’re trying to achieve with those shorts, but let me tell you, you are achieving _something_.”

Enjolras turned around, genuinely surprised to find Grantaire walking up to him. His curls were tousled and going by how soaked through his shirt was, he’d already run a few laps. “How long have you been here?” Enjolras asked.

“Since it started,” Grantaire said, “and I have to say that I’m a little disappointed about your lack of participation, I mean, your sponsors donate for every lap that’s completed, right?”

“I haven’t had the time,” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes. “Believe it or not, but I actually had other things to do.”

“You’re not trying to get around running, are you?” Grantaire asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Of course not,” Enjolras grumbled.

“Good,” Grantaire said with a wink. “Obviously you have to run, you need to show off those shorts.”

“Will you stop with the shorts.” Enjolras started marching towards the starting line, Grantaire followed at his heels.

“I’ll run with you,” Grantaire said, accepting a bottle of water from Bahorel with a smile.

“I’m sure you’re much faster than me,” Enjolras protested.

“Sadly, I am,” Grantaire said, sighing dramatically. “If I was slower, I could run behind you and reflect on how fantastic your ass looks in those–”

Enjolras didn’t let him finish, just started running, very slowly to make sure he wouldn’t be gasping for air after about a minute.

Grantaire caught up with him in no time. “Don’t sulk, I really like the shorts.”

“Well, in that case…” Enjolras grit out. He really shouldn’t be talking. Quite frankly, he really shouldn’t be running.

He made it through one lap and started another one with Grantaire still running next to him. Halfway through the second lap, Enjolras had to admit defeat. He stopped in his tracks, trying to catch his breath, not even protesting when Grantaire tugged him to the side, out of the way of the other runners.

Enjolras’ lungs were burning and he would have given anything to be able to lie down.

“Here, drink some water,” Grantaire said and handed him his water bottle. “You know, I would have expected you to take this really seriously and run every day for about half a year in advance.”

Well, it wasn’t like Enjolras wasn’t feeling guilty enough about completing this very simple task already. Then again, the run hadn’t been his idea. Courfeyrac had come up with it and it had obviously been a fantastic idea, but Enjolras would make sure that their next event wouldn’t have anything to do with _running_.

“Hey, don’t make a face like that, I was joking,” Grantaire said, reaching out to rub his back. “Come on, we’ve nearly made it.”

Enjolras only shook his head, drawing in another deep breath.

“I’ll drag you to the finish line if I have to,” Grantaire said, his fingers wrapping around Enjolras’ wrist, tugging gently. “Let’s go.”

Enjolras glared at him as best as could, but started moving again and they eventually made it to the finish line. Grantaire looked like he’d just taken a brisk walk around the block; Enjolras felt like he’d never be able to breathe properly again.

“You know, you probably should have started out a little slower,” Grantaire mused and gave him a pat on the back.

Enjolras let out a low grumble and got himself a bottle of water from Bahorel.

* * *

“Enjolras is gonna need a little more training before we organize the next one,” Courfeyrac said, causing delighted laughter all around the room.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, even though he knew that Courfeyrac was so, so right.

“Well, we need to think about something to do for Christmas,” Jehan piped up from behind the counter. He and Bahorel had been nice enough to invite them all over to the Musain after the run was over.

Enjolras had gone home first, though. To shower and to put on a pair of pants that wouldn’t earn him any more annoying comments from Grantaire.

“Alright guys,” Bahorel shouted over the loud chatter, “who wants cake?”

For the next fifteen minutes everyone was blessedly silent, all of them stuffing their face with cake, letting out the occasional obscene groan because of how good it tasted.

“We thought it would be nice if we celebrated a little,” Jehan said, smiling happily, “not only because the run was so successful, but also as a bit of a goodbye party for Grantaire.”

Enjolras glanced at Grantaire, who was leaning over Bossuet to give Jehan a hug, only moderately successful at that. He’d almost forgotten that Grantaire would be going home tomorrow. It was strange – Enjolras had got so used to him being there during the last few weeks, even though they’d barely seen each other.

When everybody was starting to yawn and Jehan finally let go of Grantaire, whom he’d been hugging to his chest for about an hour, Grantaire got up and took a seat next to Enjolras.

“So,” Grantaire said, bumping his knee against Enjolras’, “I suppose you still don’t have a Facebook account?”

Obviously Enjolras didn’t. He hated Facebook with a burning passion and although he had to admit that it was useful in some cases he still wasn’t a huge fan. Courfeyrac took care of all their social media channels and Enjolras was perfectly fine with that.

“No, I don’t,” Enjolras told him.

“Thought so,” Grantaire mumbled. “Well, I’ll just send you letters, then. Maybe a carrier pigeon every now and again.”

“Yes, that’s sounds lovely,” Enjolras said dryly and grabbed a napkin on which he scrawled his phone number. “I suppose you could always text.”

“Oh, he’s giving me his phone number, this is all I’ve ever dreamed of,” Grantaire said, clutching the napkin to his chest. He grinned broadly. “You can send me texts too, you know? Tell me when you make people cry and stuff.”

“I’ve never made anyone cry,” Enjolras grumbled.

Grantaire laughed. “Combeferre said you made one of your interns cry.”

“Well, she was being daft and I– Never mind,” Enjolras said, narrowing his eyes at Combeferre, who skillfully ignored him. “That was one time. It never happened again.”

“Right,” Grantaire said, smirking. “Well, don’t be a stranger.” He winked at him and then returned to Joly and Bossuet.

When they all got up to leave not too much later, Grantaire gave everyone a hug, loudly promising to call and to text. When he reached Enjolras, he held out his arms a little more tentatively, but Enjolras was quick to pull him into a hug.

“See you soon,” Enjolras said, remembering that Grantaire had said something about coming back for Cosette’s wedding, although that was still months away.

“Sure, _mate,_ ” Grantaire said, laughing as he pulled away.


	8. Chapter 8

One thing that Enjolras noticed when Grantaire was gone was that his friends mentioned him a lot more frequently than they had before.

They talked about pictures he’d posted online, dropped his name casually in conversations, did you hear about this or that, they asked, and Enjolras usually had to admit that he had no idea what they were talking about.

Grantaire did text him, but only once every two weeks or so.

Enjolras really couldn’t blame him, because he often didn’t manage to reply right away, then forgot about it, and anyway, he hadn’t expected a dozen texts from Grantaire a day.

The more his friends talked about him, though, the more curious Enjolras got.

So one Sunday afternoon, Enjolras sat down with his laptop and very, very reluctantly signed up on Facebook. He proceeded to give them as little information as possible, then he sent friend requests to all of his friends.

Five minutes later he had about ten messages from Courfeyrac, freaking out way more than necessary and scolding him because he didn’t have a profile picture – Enjolras then tried to figure out whether or not it was possible to keep people from sending him two dozen messages a minute.

He eventually did find a half-decent picture and Courfeyrac seemed to be somewhat appeased, even though he did point out that the picture was _a little old_.

Enjolras ignored that because, really, who cared about his Facebook profile. Facebook itself soon turned out to be relatively dull and Enjolras was just about to occupy himself with something more interesting when Grantaire accepted his friend request. Which was when Enjolras got _distracted_.

Not only because Grantaire immediately sent him a message to welcome him to the digital age. Enjolras felt the need to remind him that only because he severely disliked Facebook didn’t mean that he resented all things digital. He had a blog, for god’s sake.

Grantaire seemed to find the whole thing absolutely hilarious and they were bickering for the better part of an hour until Grantaire said he needed to go and Enjolras ventured to take a look at his profile page.

Everything that Enjolras didn’t know, everything that Grantaire had been up to during the last couple of years, was right there for him to look at. There were pictures of his time in Rome, in Munich, in London, pictures of Grantaire holding up a huge pizza, Grantaire next to a tower of empty beer glasses, at bars, in parks, pictures of landmarks and tiny streets – it seemed that Grantaire had found a new interest in taking photographs.

There was the occasional drawing, too, a couple of posts from their mutual friends, a couple from people Enjolras didn’t know, a few links here and there, one of them to one of Enjolras’ articles. Of course Grantaire had told him that he’d been reading his articles and his blog, but it still came as a bit of a surprise to Enjolras.

He was still staring at Grantaire’s profile when Combeferre peeked into his room, clearing his throat noisily.

Enjolras, belatedly realizing that he’d left the door open, slammed the lid of his laptop shut a bit too forcefully. “What’s up?” he asked. He somehow felt the need to explain to Combeferre that he hadn’t just caught him looking for porn or the like and was actually only stalking his ex-boyfriends Facebook page. He ended saying nothing at all, though, because he wasn’t even sure which alternative would be more embarrassing.

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. “Courfeyrac just called and asked if we had any plans for Christmas.” He smiled. “His mother would love to have us for Christmas dinner.”

Enjolras had made it a habit to spend Christmas with Courfeyrac’s family. Cosette often visited their parents for Christmas dinner and sometimes Enjolras felt a little guilty for not joining them, but Courfeyrac’s family was just so much more pleasant than his own.

Enjolras always ended up discussing politics with Courfeyrac’s father, Combeferre helped in the kitchen, Courfeyrac usually ended up playing with his nieces and nephews that were bouncing around the house and it was no different this year.

Except that Enjolras couldn’t help but notice that Courfeyrac spent a little more time in the kitchen than he had in previous years and Enjolras had a feeling that it had a little more to do with Combeferre and a little less with a newfound love for cooking. Especially because Courfeyrac did zero cooking and just sat at the breakfast bar, stuffing his face with Christmas cookies, his eyes following Combeferre as he moved about the kitchen.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Enjolras asked him later on. They were all sitting next to the fireplace and Combeferre was well out of earshot, playing Scrabble with one of Courfeyrac’s nieces.

“I’m not sure if talking about it will do any good,” Courfeyrac mumbled. “I’m being too obvious, aren’t I?”

Enjolras didn’t reply. Combeferre was quite possibly the most perceptive of all of them and even though he had been busy helping Courfeyrac’s sisters cook all afternoon, Enjolras could hardly imagine that he hadn’t noticed.

“Shit,” Courfeyrac said flatly, followed by a quick apology to his little niece who was looking at him with wide, accusing eyes.

“Maybe you should…” Enjolras trailed off, since he was actually the last person who should be giving anyone relationship advice. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“No, I mean, he was always pretty clear about…” Courfeyrac bit his lip. “He doesn’t want…”

“What you want?” Enjolras finished, hoping Courfeyrac would recognize it as the question that it was.

“I guess,” Courfeyrac mumbled. “Don’t tell him.” He sighed. “Seriously, not a word to him about anything I said. I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable just because I have a ridiculous crush.”

“Who do you have a crush on, Uncle Courf?” his niece, Enjolras was pretty sure that her name was Emily, asked.

Enjolras didn’t miss that Combeferre looked up at that.

“Uncle Courf has a crush on your grandma’s lasagna,” Courfeyrac said, patting her on the head. He looked around the room, smiling awkwardly, before he turned back to Enjolras. “Let’s just… not talk about this ever again. But promise you won’t say anything.”

“I promise,” Enjolras mumbled, smiling at Courfeyrac as he reached for his cup of hot cocoa that Courfeyrac’s mother had made for them earlier.

He listened to everyone’s chatter with half an ear, his mind wandering. He’d taken two weeks off work because he’d still had too many leftover vacation days, and Cosette and Marius had invited him for dinner tomorrow, they’d be having a New Year’s party at Jehan’s, Feuilly had told him that he might come by if he could afford to take a couple of days off and apparently Eponine was in town, too, but Enjolras had always found her a little terrifying, though, which was why he wasn’t dying to meet up with her.

But Grantaire had always spent a lot of time with her back at school, so maybe he was going to come by as well. Enjolras hadn’t spoken to Grantaire in a while, mainly because he’d been swamped with work during the last couple of weeks and forgot to reply to his Facebook messages way too often. Still, Enjolras thought he was much better at being friends with him than he had expected.

They’d only got into a total of three arguments ever since Grantaire had gone back to London, other than that their conversations, short as they usually were, had been rather interesting.

“What are you thinking about?” Courfeyrac asked lowly.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras replied, only then realizing that he probably shouldn’t have said that out loud.

Courfeyrac hummed thoughtfully, his lips twitching.

“What?” Enjolras asked.

“Do you think about Grantaire a lot or did you just happen to–”

“Just leave it alone, okay?” he interrupted. He knew exactly what Courfeyrac was getting at and Enjolras was going to have none of that.

“Whatever you say,” Courfeyrac muttered, gently elbowing him in the ribs. “Because, just so you know, since you already had fantastic sex with him, I wouldn’t judge you if you wanted to have fantastic sex with him again.”

“Well, I don’t,” Enjolras grumbled. Although he did occasionally think about Grantaire standing at his bedroom window, completely naked, blowing smoke into the night air. He usually did his best not to dwell on the image.

Courfeyrac mumbled something that sounded strangely like “I give up” and leaned back with a sigh.

Enjolras, for some reason, found it hard not to think about Grantaire for the rest of the evening.

Later, when he’d curled up in bed, Combeferre already fast asleep next to him, Enjolras picked up his phone and typed out a text to Grantaire.

You: _Did you have a nice Christmas?_

He stared at the text for an embarrassingly long time before he finally sent it off.

Enjolras knew that he should go to sleep. Grantaire probably wasn’t going to answer any time soon and Enjolras was completely knackered, but he still kept his eyes on his phone, barely visible in the darkness.

Much to his surprise, it lit up only a few minutes later.

Grantaire: _well it’s not really over yet but it wasn’t too bad… did you have a good time at courfeyrac’s??_

You: _We did. Are you coming to Jehan’s New Year’s party?_

It was just an objective interest, really.

Grantaire: _probably not i kinda already have plans_

Enjolras wasn’t sure what exactly to reply, so he just bid him goodnight and put down his phone. He curled up on his side and tucked himself in properly.

“Who were you texting?” Combeferre asked, his voice quiet but not at all sleepy.

“No one,” Enjolras mumbled. “I just wanted to check something.”

Combeferre didn’t push it, only hummed lowly and muttered, “Sleep well.”

“You too,” Enjolras whispered and finally closed his eyes.

* * *

Enjolras’ two weeks off actually went by a lot more quickly than he’d anticipated. He survived New Year’s Eve and spent a lot of time with Combeferre and sometimes Courfeyrac joined them. One time they met their friends at the Musain, not for a meeting, but just to catch up.

Cosette told him about Christmas dinner at their father’s – apparently it had been his turn this year and Enjolras was once again glad that he hadn’t even considered going – and Enjolras’ name hadn’t been mentioned once. Quite frankly, Enjolras wasn’t surprised at all.

They didn’t dwell on the subject for too long, though, because there were more important matters at hand.

Cosette insisted on Enjolras helping her pick a wedding cake, so she took him to the Musain. Enjolras hadn’t had the faintest idea that Bahorel and Jehan also made wedding cakes, but here they were, eating their way through over half a dozen cake samples.

“Try that one, it’s chocolate raspberry,” Jehan said, pushing a plate across the table. He was sitting next to Cosette, noting down every word that she said.

Enjolras kept the chocolate raspberry cake for himself and listened as Cosette and Jehan talked about decorations and color schemes and the wedding reception and Cosette’s dress and what flowers she wanted in her bouquet.

“…and you should all get your save-the-date cards soon,” Cosette was saying, beaming at Jehan. “This is all so exciting.”

Jehan smiled happily. “Do you already have a favorite concerning the cake? You don’t have to decide right now, but maybe we can narrow it down a little.”

“Enjolras, what do you think?” Cosette asked.

Enjolras looked up, biting his lip. “They were all great,” he said. Really, he just wasn’t the right person for this. Not that he was planning on getting married, but if he ever did, his wedding would be the smallest and simplest the world had ever seen.

“See, that’s why I didn’t take you dress shopping,” Cosette muttered. “But I suppose you liked the chocolate raspberry one?”

“Definitely,” Enjolras said, glancing down at the empty plate in front of him.

Cosette hummed thoughtfully. “Marius said he’d leave the cake to me, but he loves chocolate, so I’m actually inclined to take that one.”

“Well, sleep on it and I can pack you some samples for Marius.” Jehan said, giving Cosette a hug before he waltzed back to the counter.  

Cosette sighed. “I’ve never eaten this much cake in my entire life,” she said and took the last piece of the pineapple coconut cake. “You know,” she added, suddenly looking thoughtful, “sometimes I wish my mum could be here with me. My real mum, I mean. Not that you weren’t most invaluable today,” she smiled, “but it would be nice to… share this with her, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said and reached out take her hand. He didn’t know much about Cosette’s birth parents, only that Cosette’s father had left her mother before she’d been born and that her mother had died when she’d still been very young.

Cosette squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry,” she said lowly. “So, how about we ask Jehan to pack some of these for you and Combeferre?”

Enjolras was pretty sure he’d never want to eat another piece of cake in all his life, but agreed that Combeferre would probably like some, so he arrived home about an hour later, carrying a box full of little cake samples. Jehan had even given him two cupcakes for free, just for good measure.

As expected, Combeferre was delighted about the cake and proceeded to have his very own cake tasting in their living room. Enjolras had half a mind to ask him to write down what he thought about each of them so he could tell Cosette later on.

He eventually settled down on the couch with his laptop, checked his emails for anything work-related and was just about to get caught up with the most recent news when their doorbell rang.

Combeferre looked at him with a frown. “Are you expecting anyone?”

Enjolras shook his head and put his laptop to the side. It was probably just one of their neighbors. “I’ll go get it,” he mumbled and padded out into the hallway.

When he opened the door, he didn’t find any of their neighbors standing on their doorstep, though. Looking up at him with tired eyes, was no other than Grantaire.


	9. Chapter 9

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, still too surprised to utter a proper greeting.

Grantaire didn’t look well. His eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders slumped, he was pale and skinnier than the last time Enjolras had seen him. There were snowflakes just now starting to melt in his hair – it was cold outside, but Grantaire was only wearing a black sweatshirt. He must have been freezing out there.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire whispered, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to just show up like this, I just wasn’t sure where else to go.”

“Are you alright?” Enjolras asked, only barely resisting the urge to reach out and give him a hug. Grantaire certainly looked like he needed one. Maybe also something to eat and a warm blanket.

Grantaire let out a hollow laugh. “I’m… no, definitely not alright. Shit, I know I shouldn’t have come here, but Jehan isn’t home yet and I don’t want to bother him at the Musain and Joly and Bossuet aren’t there and I… I just came here and I’m sorry that I did, but–”

“It’s okay,” Enjolras interrupted, tentatively pulling him inside, “you can stay here, it’s fine.” He didn’t have the slightest idea what was going on, but he couldn’t just leave Grantaire standing on his doorstep.

Grantaire stumbled over the threshold, smiling uncertainly. He dropped his bag next to the door and toed off his shoes.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras asked. “Did something happen?”

Before Grantaire could answer, Combeferre stepped out of the living room, barely hiding his surprise at seeing Grantaire standing in their hallway. “Grantaire,” he said, his brow furrowed, “are you okay?”

Grantaire glanced at Combeferre for a second and only shrugged.

“Why don’t you come in and sit down,” Combeferre said, reaching out to tug Grantaire into the living room. “Would you like a cup of tea? Or something to eat maybe? We have a lot of cake.”

“I’m good,” Grantaire mumbled as he sank down onto the couch.

Enjolras watched Combeferre mumble something to Grantaire that caused a small smile to flit across his face. Eventually, Enjolras ventured into the living room as well, sitting down next to Grantaire.

“What happened?” Enjolras asked and Combeferre shot him a look that very explicitly asked him not to be so pushy. Enjolras bit his lip.

Grantaire sighed, tugging his fingers through this hair. “My grandma called this morning,” he said. His voice was so quiet that Enjolras could barely understand what he was saying. “My dad died last night. He just… had a heart attack or something, I don’t know, and I had no idea what to do, I mean, you know how I feel about my dad, but I couldn’t just stay in London and now I’m here but I can’t go home… I honestly just don’t know what to do.”

Enjolras had met Grantaire’s dad briefly years ago. He hadn’t been the most pleasant of people and although Enjolras wasn’t sure whether or not Grantaire had stayed in touch with his family during the last couple of years, he was almost certain that Grantaire’s relationship with his father was rather similar to the one Enjolras had with his own.

Combeferre looked over at Enjolras, his expression thoughtful. Enjolras knew exactly what he was thinking. Combeferre wanted to tell Grantaire that he could spend the night, that he could stay for as long as he wanted, but he wasn’t sure whether or not Enjolras was alright with that.

Enjolras nodded ever so slightly and Combeferre put his hand on Grantaire’s back. “Why don’t you just stay here, get some sleep and tomorrow morning you can figure out what you want to do.”

“Are you sure it’s okay if I stay, because I can call Jehan later on,” Grantaire said lowly.

“Don’t worry, it’s quite alright,” Combeferre said, getting to his feet. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire mumbled. He waited until Combeferre had left before he turned to Enjolras. “I’m really sorry for barging in like this, I would have gone to Joly’s, but he’s…”

“Skiing with Bossuet and Musichetta, I know,” Enjolras finished for him. “Combeferre wasn’t lying, it’s alright if you want to stay the night.”

“Okay,” Grantaire whispered and let out a small sigh. “I don’t even know why I care, I mean, I don't, but it's so weird, because I haven’t talked to my dad in years, I don’t even know if he was sick or if this was just… fuck, I can’t go to that funeral, my grandma asked me to come, but I can’t go.”

“You don’t have to,” Enjolras said, reluctantly reaching out. He’d started asking himself what Courfeyrac would do in situations like this; he knew Courfeyrac would try to offer some kind of comfort. “Do you want a hug?”

Grantaire looked at him, his uncertainty written plainly all over his face, but soon leaned a little closer, exhaling softly when Enjolras wrapped an arm around him.

“My mum will be there,” Grantaire whispered into the crook of Enjolras’ neck, “and she’ll probably tell me to piss off the second she sees me. Nobody wants me there, well, except for my grandparents. They’re the only ones I stayed in touch with.”

Enjolras gently petted Grantaire’s hair. He had no idea what to say to him, how to make him feel better about this – honestly, he probably couldn’t. He was almost glad when Combeferre returned, carrying a tray with three cups of tea on it.

Grantaire stayed curled up against Enjolras, though, and it took him a couple of seconds to realize that Grantaire had fallen asleep.

“I guess he had a stressful day,” Enjolras muttered. “Maybe we should just leave him be for now?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Combeferre said, leaning back against the cushions with a smile. “He can have my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

Enjolras nodded, knowing it would do no good to argue. He ignored the way his stomach gave a twinge when Grantaire nuzzled against him and stayed completely still so he wouldn’t wake him up.

“Should we call anyone?” Enjolras asked. “Jehan maybe?”

“Not unless he asks us to,” Combeferre muttered. “Let’s just give him some time. He’ll be fine.”

Enjolras nodded and tugged at the blanket that was slung over the arm rest next to him, carefully draped it around Grantaire, just to make sure that he wasn’t cold and then tried to think of anything but the fact that Grantaire was currently clinging to him with his face hidden in the crook of his neck.

It took a while for Grantaire to stir – Combeferre made his bed for Grantaire and cooked dinner in the meantime – and he blinked awake slowly at first, then he sat up all of a sudden. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Enjolras said, trying to stretch as subtly as he could. “Combeferre is making dinner if you’re hungry.”

Grantaire nodded, smiling a lopsided smile when he got up to join Combeferre in the kitchen. They had dinner together, then Combeferre made sure Grantaire had everything he needed before he trudged off to bed.

Enjolras bid him goodnight and sat down in the living room to wait for Combeferre to come back.

“Are you okay?” Combeferre asked when he joined him on the couch.

“Of course I’m okay,” Enjolras replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“For various reasons,” Combeferre said lightly.

Enjolras hummed thoughtfully, but didn’t otherwise say anything, so Combeferre let it go. Of course it was strange that Grantaire was here, but it was nothing that Enjolras couldn’t deal with.

“It’s upsetting isn’t it?” Combeferre said after a while. “Not knowing what to do to make him feel better? I had no idea what to say to him.”

Enjolras looked up, totally baffled. It hadn’t seemed to him like Combeferre hadn’t known what to do. “You hid it well.” Then again, Combeferre always did. Really, Enjolras would have been completely lost without him here. “But I know what you mean.”

Combeferre smiled sadly. “It’s a difficult situation.”

As difficult as it was, though, somehow Enjolras was glad that Grantaire wasn’t in London all by himself.

Enjolras went to bed early that evening but felt restless all night, tossed and turned, and got up early the next morning. He found Combeferre in the kitchen, brewing coffee and cutting up fruit. It looked like he’d also got them some pastries from the bakery down the street.

“Good morning,” Combeferre said, smiling pleasantly.

Enjolras yawned. “Good morning,” he grit out and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Is Grantaire up yet?”

“I don’t think so,” Combeferre mused. He fetched a plate and started piling food onto it. “You could bring him some breakfast, though.” He gave Enjolras a look. “Unless you want me to do it.”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll do it,” Enjolras said and took the plate from him. He put it on a tray together with a fresh cup of coffee and his own cup and slowly walked down the hall to Combeferre’s room. He knocked at first, but when there was no reply he opened the door to take a peek inside.

Grantaire was still curled up in bed, the sheets wrapped around him like a cocoon, but he stirred when Enjolras stepped inside, looking up with bleary eyes. “Hey,” he whispered.

“Hi,” Enjolras said and held up the tray. “Hungry?”

Grantaire nodded. “Breakfast in bed,” he said, grinning wryly, “that’s a nice service.”

“You’ll have to thank Combeferre for that,” Enjolras mumbled and handed Grantaire the tray, snatching away his own coffee.

“No food for you?” Grantaire asked, making an obscene noise when he bit into his croissant.

“I’ll get something later,” Enjolras said and took a sip of his coffee.

Grantaire hummed lowly. “Thanks. For this and for letting me stay here and… everything. I was a mess last night.” He shook his head. “I’ll head to the Musain later, I guess Jehan won’t mind if I camp out on his couch for a couple of days.”

“When do you have to go back…” Enjolras paused, the word _home_ on the tip of his tongue, “…to London?” he finished.

Grantaire shrugged. “There’s no hurry.”

“There’s not?” Enjolras asked. He wasn’t quite sure what that was supposed to mean. “I thought you’d found a job?”

“Nah, I mostly freelance,” Grantaire replied. “It’s enough to pay for the flat and everything, but just barely. It’s not ideal, obviously, but yeah, it works for now.”

Somehow, Enjolras was certain that Grantaire wasn’t telling the truth, that it wasn’t _just barely enough_ , that it might not be enough at all, but it wasn’t his place to pry.

Grantaire cleared his throat noisily. “Anyway, I should leave soon, you probably have shit to do and I really need to figure out what to tell my grandma.”

“If there’s anything you need…” Enjolras trailed off, not sure what exactly he was even offering. He wasn’t particularly good at comforting people, but there must be something he could do. “If you don’t want to go to the funeral on your own, I can–”

“You don’t have to do that,” Grantaire interrupted. “I appreciate it, but you really don’t have to.” He stared down into his cup of coffee, slowly tracing the rim with his finger. “Would you go?” he asked after a while, finally looking up. “If you were me, would you go to that funeral?”

“I’m not sure,” Enjolras said honestly. He certainly wouldn’t go alone.

“I feel like I should be sad, but I’m really not. If anything, I’m mad. He's my dad but all he ever did was to criticize me, you remember him, you know what he was like. Nothing I’ve ever done was good enough for him and he kept telling me what a huge disappointment I was. And you know what, he was right. I’m–”

“You’re not a disappointment,” Enjolras snapped. He didn’t want Grantaire to believe those things. Whatever his father had said to him, it simply wasn’t true.

Grantaire leaned his head back against the headboard with a sigh. “Enjolras…”

“I’m serious, he never saw how talented you are. He should have been proud of you instead of trying to force you to become like him,” Enjolras said angrily.

“You know,” Grantaire said, laughing lowly, “you fascinate me.”

“What?” Enjolras asked, frowning.

“You constantly argue with me because you’re oh so disappointed in my attitude towards, well, the general state of the world and what should or should not be done about it and yet you’re sitting here, telling me that my dad should have been proud of me.”

“Those two things have nothing to do with each other whatsoever”, Enjolras grumbled.

Grantaire sighed. “Whatever you say,” he muttered and took to finishing his breakfast in a rather aggressive fashion.

Grantaire carefully put down the tray and drew his legs up against his chest, resting his chin on his knees. This time, Enjolras didn’t think long about reaching out.

They sat in silence for a while, Enjolras’ hand resting on Grantaire’s back, rubbing circles with his thumb. Enjolras was wracking his brains to find something to say to him, but eventually came to the conclusion that maybe just sitting here was enough. Grantaire had never liked talking about his feelings anyway.

“I need a fucking drink,” Grantaire whispered.

Enjolras pursed his lips and couldn’t help but let out a displeased huff.

“Yeah, I know, you don’t like that. Don't worry, I’ll just have a smoke,” Grantaire muttered. “Do you mind if I quickly jump in the shower before I go to the Musain?”

“I’ll get you a towel,” Enjolras said and gave Grantaire’s shoulder a squeeze before he got up.

Grantaire left not too much later, thanked them profusely, didn’t complain when Combeferre pulled him into a hug and then wandered off to the Musain.

Enjolras didn’t hear from Grantaire again, but when he paid Jehan a visit at the Musain during his lunch break the following Monday, Jehan told him that Grantaire was still at his place and that he was probably going to stay for a few more day. That probably should have been reason enough for Enjolras to stop worrying, but his thoughts still kept wandering back to Grantaire every now and then.

On Wednesday they had an unofficial meeting at the Musain. Unofficial because it was only him, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Bahorel – Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were still on holiday and Marius and Cosette hardly ever came to their meetings, although they tried to help out at their events as often as they could.

Jehan joined them a little while later, dressed all in black, his hair not in the usual braid but in a bun.

“There you are,” Bahorel said and pulled up a chair for Jehan. “I was expecting you back a lot earlier.”

“Yeah, I made sure Grantaire got something to eat,” Jehan said as he shrugged off his coat.

Jehan had probably gone to the funeral with Grantaire, Enjolras realized. At least the uncharacteristically dark clothes made sense now. “And where is Grantaire?” Enjolras asked.

“Didn’t he tell you?” Jehan asked, brow furrowed. “I just took him to the train station, he’s going straight back to London.”

“Oh,” Enjolras only said and turned back to his notes. He hated to admit it, but he was actually a little disappointed that Grantaire hadn’t even come to say goodbye.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (For some reason this chapter took me forever to finish, I hope it turned out alright.)
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos, guys!


	10. Chapter 10

“Are you alright?”

Enjolras looked up, nodding quickly. “Fine. I’m perfectly fine.”

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. “You’re baking.”

“So?” Enjolras asked, looking down at the cookie dough he was making. It didn’t even look that bad. Although it probably wasn’t supposed to be as runny as it was.

“You are _baking_ ,” Combeferre repeated slowly.

“Well, I thought some cookies would be nice,” Enjolras said. Obviously he was aware that he usually didn’t bake. Or cook. The only thing he made in the kitchen was coffee and instant noodles and the occasional scrambled eggs, but he’d even managed to burn those once. But he was desperate to distract himself and nothing else had worked so far, so he’d taken to more drastic measures.

“Should I be worried?” Combeferre asked, walking over to him, peering into his bowl. “That doesn’t look right.”

Enjolras groaned. “Well, it’s not like I’m doing this a lot.”

Combeferre hummed thoughtfully. “Not that I don’t support your newfound love for baking, but maybe you should add some flour to that.”

“Flour,” Enjolras whispered. He’d completely forgotten about that.

Combeferre handed it to him with a smile that was verging on smug. “Why exactly is it that you suddenly felt like making cookies?”

“I just needed something to do,” Enjolras muttered and dumped some flour into his dough.

“Ah,” Combeferre said, slowly retreating to the kitchen table to go back to correcting his students' homework.

Enjolras finished his cookie dough and tried to distribute it as evenly as he could, then he set the timer and sat down across from Combeferre, watching him for a couple of minutes.

He could tell Combeferre what bothered him. It might help to get it off his chest. He wasn’t sure if Combeferre would understand and there was a very real possibility that he might judge him, but he would probably also know what Enjolras should do about his problem. Combeferre _always_ knew what to do.

“He just left,” Enjolras said, his voice a mere whisper.

Combeferre looked up, dropping his pen as he leaned a little closer. “This is about Grantaire?”

“In a way,” Enjolras allowed. “I just think it’s strange, you know? First he shows up here and, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t mind that he just showed up, but I don’t understand why he didn’t even say goodbye. We haven’t talked since he left either.”

“And that bugs you because…?” Combeferre asked, looking at him intently.

“Because it’s strange,” Enjolras replied. “Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“I don’t know.” Combeferre frowned, resting his chin on his folded hands. “Strictly speaking, you spent seven years not talking to him at all.”

“I had my reasons,” Enjolras grumbled.

“Maybe he does as well,” Combeferre said. “Have you tried talking to him?”

“Well, I thought he might talk to me.” Enjolras wasn’t even sure why they weren’t talking. Maybe it was normal. Still, it felt weird. “Anyway, it’s not bothering me that much, I’m just a little confused.”

“It’s not bothering you,” Combeferre repeated, clearly not convinced.

Enjolras leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “I don’t understand why he’d just leave like that, that’s all.”

“You were baking,” Combeferre said dryly.

Enjolras gave him a sullen look in reply.

* * *

“Oh my god, Enjolras…”

Enjolras looked up from his laptop, frowning. That had definitely been Courfeyrac. Enjolras had neither known that Courfeyrac was coming over nor had he heard the doorbell ring.

Courfeyrac appeared in the doorway seconds later, holding up one of his cookies. He’d obviously already taken a huge bite. “These are disgusting.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras said flatly.

“I mean,” Courfeyrac took another bite, “not disgusting enough for me to stop eating it, but just so you know, when a recipe says that you’re supposed to add a pinch of salt, then it’s really just _a pinch_.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Enjolras said, watching as Courfeyrac ate the rest of the cookie with a gleeful expression.

“Maybe you should ask Jehan to give you a baking lesson,” Courfeyrac said. “Or Bahorel, I bet he could teach you how to make those amazing red velvet cupcakes, you know, the ones Grantaire gave him the recipe for, and then you could make them for _me_.”

“Absolutely not,” Enjolras said. The cookies had been enough of a disaster, he didn’t need to try his hand at baking cupcakes.

“Well, it was worth a try,” Courfeyrac mumbled. “Combeferre and I are ordering Chinese and watching Star Wars, do you want to join us?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to join you?”

Courfeyrac let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a whine. “Don’t ask me,” he said lowly, “I don’t know what I want. I mean, I do know. But I don’t.”

“You’re certainly not the only one,” Enjolras said. “You know what, there are some things I need to work on, so why don’t you two talk. About what you want.”

“Are you giving me advice on my love life?” Courfeyrac asked, his eyes wide. “It’s like you’re all grown up.”

“I just think you two should talk,” Enjolras said sternly. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t get involved, especially because he wasn’t sure what exactly was going on between Combeferre and Courfeyrac and it definitely wasn’t his place to interfere. In any case, he certainly wasn’t as oblivious as some people thought him to be – he saw the glances that Combeferre snuck at Courfeyrac when he thought that no one was looking and he saw how Courfeyrac seemed to be drawn to Combeferre, how they were always around each other somehow.

Courfeyrac made a face. “This is bad, I wasn’t made for talking, I’m a man of action.”

“Courf,” Enjolras said, “I know for a fact that you are _very_ good at talking.”

“But this is different,” Courfeyrac grit out, glancing over his shoulder and silently pushing the door shut. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to be in love with someone who will never, and I really mean _never_ , reciprocate your feelings?”

“You’re in love with him?” was all Enjolras managed to say.

“That’s really not the point,” Courfeyrac said. “And don’t look at me like that, I know this is bad. Really, really bad. _So_ bad. I don’t want to look at him because every time I do I think about kissing him, but I can’t kiss him because he absolutely wouldn’t want that, but I can’t not look at him because he’s so–”

“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre called.

Courfeyrac sighed opened the door again, smiling at Combeferre, who came walking towards Enjolras’ room. “Sorry, I was just trying to talk Enjolras into joining us for movie night.”

“Let me guess, you have work to do?” Combeferre asked with a smile.

Enjolras shrugged. “Can you get me some spring rolls when you order food?”

“Sure,” Combeferre said, apparently not too keen on convincing him to let his work slide for a couple of hours, and disappeared back down the hallway.

Courfeyrac shot Enjolras one more desperate look before he turned to follow Combeferre.

In the course of the evening Enjolras eventually migrated to his bed, his laptop in his lap now. A while later the door opened, Courfeyrac’s arm appearing to place a takeout box on his desk. The rest of Courfeyrac followed, grinning at him before he vanished again. He and Combeferre were probably doing just fine, then.

Enjolras got up to get his food before he turned his attention back to his laptop screen, nibbling at a spring role as he checked his Facebook page.

Grantaire was online, he noted. Enjolras played with the thought of asking him how he was doing, watching the minutes tick by, the little green dot next to Grantaire’s name never disappearing.

Enjolras: _How are you doing?_

Grantaire didn’t reply right away and with every second that he didn’t, Enjolras was regretting writing him that message a little more.

Even though it was a completely harmless question to ask.

Grantaire: _i’m ok… you?_

Enjolras: _I’m fine._

To that Grantaire didn’t reply, but, really, what was he supposed to say to that? Enjolras had never been a friend of small talk and even though he knew that in some cases it was unavoidable, he was usually in favor of getting right to the point.

Enjolras: _I’m glad to hear that you’re doing alright, I was a little worried when you just disappeared._

Grantaire: _yeah sorry about that i just didn’t think it’d be a good idea to stick around_

Enjolras: _I see._

To be honest, he didn’t understand at all, but he felt like it wasn’t such a good idea to ask.

Grantaire: _thanks for everything though_

Grantaire: _i got an invitation for cosette and marius’ wedding the other day_

Grantaire: _it looks pretty fancy_

Grantaire: _i mean i googled the address because i was curious and it’s at this huge mansion_

Grantaire: _you probably already know that but holy shit_

Enjolras: _It’s the summer residence of Marius’ grandfather, he’s letting them use it for the wedding._

Grantaire: _summer residence_

Grantaire: _wow i bet you just love that_

Enjolras: _It’s really none of my business._

Grantaire: _oh come on_

Enjolras: _Well, maybe I don’t think it’s strictly necessary for someone to have a summer house_ , _but I want Cosette to have a nice wedding, so I promised her that I won’t utter the word capitalism or anything related to it for the duration of the wedding._

Grantaire: _you’re a good brother_

Grantaire: _anyway i’d love to chat a little longer but i have to go now and i’m kinda late already so… see ya or something_

It was a rather abrupt departure and somehow that strange feeling that Enjolras hadn’t been able to put his finger on was back with a vengeance.

He liked talking to Grantaire and, well, he’d missed it. Which he really shouldn’t – he should neither miss Grantaire, nor should he miss talking to him or anything else that had to do with him.

Enjolras reached for another spring roll, chewing on it sullenly, trying to think of something else, anything else, but his brain wouldn’t cooperate, a tiny little voice in the back of his head urging him to get up and walk over to his closet and pull out the box that was pushed to the far back where Enjolras could barely see it and would never even think about opening it.

He looked down at the box, knowing exactly that this was a huge mistake. He’d thought about throwing it away many times, but he’d never been able to bring himself to actually do it.

Enjolras brushed away some of the dust that had settled on top of it and opened it carefully, looking down at its contents. There was a stack of drawings, a green hoodie, old and worn, a train ticket, a couple of photos, a postcard from Rome, and an even smaller box that held the shreds of a letter that Enjolras had received many, many years ago but had never read. The only reason Enjolras had kept the shreds was because Combeferre hadn’t let him throw them away. “You might want to read it one day,” he’d said and maybe he’d been right.

Instead of reaching for the little box, however, Enjolras pulled out the green hoodie. He started down at it for a while until he remembered that he really shouldn’t be doing this and quickly stuffed it back into the box. He pushed it back into the closet and dumped some of his clothes on top of it to make sure that he wouldn’t come up with the idea of opening it again.

* * *

“I’m going to Courfeyrac’s, do you want to come?” Combeferre asked as he came walking into Enjolras’ room.

“Why do you guys keep asking me if I want to hang out with you, we all know that neither of you wants me there,” Enjolras grumbled. He sighed. That handed sounded right. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and I have a headache and I think I need a nap.”

“We were just trying to be polite,” Combeferre said, acknowledging his apology with a small smile. “And maybe you need more than just a nap.”

“Maybe,” Enjolras allowed. He had a lot of work to do, though. He was going to interview Monsieur Lamarque the following week – Enjolras admired him very much for his progressive policies and there was a very real possibility that Lamarque was going to run for Senate in the next elections.

“I’m serious,” Combeferre said. He nudged him. “Get some sleep.”

“I will.” Enjolras looked up at him with a smirk. “Later.”

“Why do I have a feeling that you’ll still be up when I get home?”

“Oh, you are getting home this time?”

Combeferre pursed his lips. “It was snowing and it would have taken me ages to get home.” He tilted his head. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“That you’re hanging out?” Really, Enjolras was very well aware that they weren’t just hanging out. They weren’t dating either, but they always seemed to be showing up together everywhere these days.

“Yes, that we’re _hanging out_ ,” Combeferre said. He sat down at Enjolras’ feet, his expression thoughtful.

“If that’s what you want, then I honestly don’t mind at all,” Enjolras said. He knew that Courfeyrac would never deliberately hurt anyone and Combeferre was going about this carefully, almost analytically at times.

Combeferre smiled, remaining silent for a minute or two, fingers tapping on his thigh.

“What?” Enjolras asked. He didn’t want to pry, but if Combeferre didn’t want to talk about whatever was on his mind right now, he wouldn’t still be sitting here.

Combeferre smiled sheepishly. “I might ask him out. On an actual date.”

“An actual date,” Enjolras echoed.

“I have feelings for him, Enjolras,” Combeferre said lowly. “I would have never believed that I might develop any kind of feelings for anyone, but that is exactly what is happening.” He took a deep breath. “Courfeyrac would never expect _anything_ of me. He’s been incredibly patient.”

For a split-second, Enjolras had no idea what to say.

“Do you think I’m in over my head?” Combeferre asked.

Enjolras shrugged. Combeferre and Courfeyrac both were his friends and he didn’t want to see either of them get hurt, but ultimately he had no say in this. “It’s none of my business.”

“It’s not like I don’t have my doubts.”

Enjolras frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we both know Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said. “He’s an incredibly kind person, but he’s also very… physical. And he knows that there’s a very real possibility that I’ll never want to sleep with him. And he said that he doesn’t mind.”

Enjolras looked at him for a long moment, considering what Combeferre had told him. “I think that Courfeyrac wouldn’t say that if he didn’t actually mean it.”

“Well,” Combeferre said, his lips twitching into a smile, “I suppose you do have a point.”

* * *

Courfeyrac: _Musain after work? 7ish? Xx_

You: _Sure, I’ll see you later._

Enjolras quickly sent a text to Combeferre to let him know that he wouldn’t be home for dinner and then tackled the massive mountain of emails that had accumulated over the weekend, working quickly so he’d actually get to the Musain on time.

He ended up leaving only a few minutes later than he’d planned and ran into Courfeyrac around the corner from the Musain. He was still wearing his suit, so he’d probably come here straight from the office.

“Is something wrong?” Enjolras asked. It wasn’t exactly unusual for them to meet for dinner, but it normally wasn’t on such short notice.

Courfeyrac smiled at him, cheerful as always. “No, I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

Enjolras remained silent, expecting him to continue, but Courfeyrac only walked onwards, not saying a word.

“Should I be worried?” Enjolras asked eventually.

“No, I’d just rather eat first,” Courfeyrac said, slowing his steps as they approached the Musain. “But it’s nothing…”

Enjolras looked up, a little confused because Courfeyrac had stopped talking all of a sudden, but soon figured out what had rendered him speechless all of a sudden.

In the café, leaning against the counter and talking to Jehan, was no other than Grantaire.

Enjolras groaned. “Why does he keep doing this?” he whispered.


	11. Chapter 11

“Doing what?” Courfeyrac asked, looking vaguely amused. “What is he doing?”

“He just shows up out of the blue _all the time_.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Courfeyrac laughed. “Do you need time to mentally prepare yourself before he comes by?”

Enjolras didn’t reply, only let out a non-committal grunt. A little warning certainly wouldn’t have been unwelcome.

“I see,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully. “Well, maybe we should go say hello.”

“No, we really shouldn’t,” Enjolras protested weakly, letting Courfeyrac push him into the Musain without resisting too much.

It looked like Jehan had already started decorating for spring. There were flowers everywhere – they were even tucked into Jehan’s braid - and someone had drawn a blooming cherry tree on the board behind the counter.

The next thing that Enjolras noticed was that Grantaire was wearing a red apron, the one that all employees of the Musain wore, along with a nametag that simply read _R_. On a rational level Enjolras understood that the reason for that was that Grantaire worked at the Musain now, but at the same time he was completely confused. Because Grantaire lived in London.

Courfeyrac immediately ran to hug Grantaire, Enjolras looked at Jehan, raising his eyebrows in question. Jehan only shrugged and nodded at Grantaire. _Ask him_.

“What are you doing here?” Courfeyrac asked, one arm still slung around Grantaire.

“I, um, work here now…” Grantaire replied. He grinned at Enjolras, wiggling his eyebrows. “Well, Enjolras, has my presence rendered you speechless?”

Enjolras cleared his throat. “I was just… you work here now?”

“I needed a job,” Grantaire said nonchalantly. “And Jehan happened to have a job for me.”

“Wait, does that mean you live here now?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Technically I’m still looking for an apartment, but I’m staying with Joly and Bossuet until I find something.”

“I can help you find an apartment,” Courfeyrac said, his eyes going wide. “I love apartment-hunting, I’m so excited.”

“Well, at least _someone_ is,” Grantaire said dryly.

“Trust me,” Courfeyrac said, beaming at Grantaire, “I’ll find you the best apartment in Paris.”

Grantaire patted him on the back. “I honestly don’t care much as long as it’s cheap and not a total dump.” He grinned at Courfeyrac and then darted off when Jehan said _customers_ under his breath.

Enjolras stared after him and watched as he greeted the couple that had sat down by the window, still trying to wrap his head around what was going on here. Grantaire was back in Paris. And he had a job, here in Paris. And he was looking for an apartment _in Paris_.

He barely even realized that Courfeyrac was slowly pulling him over to their usual table.

Grantaire came flitting over to take their orders, smiling brightly before he went to get their drinks and their bagels, putting them down and then curtsied. “I’m so good at this job,” Grantaire whispered before he left them to their food.

He looked good – well, if you ignored the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he probably needed a haircut. Grantaire briefly smiled at him when he caught him staring, Enjolras quickly turned back to look at Courfeyrac, who only rolled his eyes.

“What?” Enjolras grumbled.

“Stop checking out Grantaire, I know that he has a nice ass, but I need you to give me your full attention,” Courfeyrac said.

“I wasn’t–”

“Yes, you were,” Courfeyrac said, shaking his head with a sigh. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Now it was Enjolras’ turn to roll his eyes. Sometimes Courfeyrac just saw things that weren’t there. “So, you wanted to talk about something?”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac said quickly, putting on his business face. “Look, I know you’ve probably talked to Combeferre about this, but you’re my best friend, too, so…” He trailed off and leaned a little closer, a small smile appearing on his face. “I’m dating Combeferre,” he whispered.

Courfeyrac was right, Enjolras talked to Combeferre about this, but if it made Courfeyrac happy, he’d gladly listen to the story he’d already heard last night when Combeferre had got home one more time.

“You know that already,” Courfeyrac said when Enjolras didn’t reply, looking a little disheartened. “I figured as much.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Why don’t you tell me about your date?”

“But you’ve heard it all before,” Courfeyrac whined. “I need to find a new best friend, I mean I can’t tell Combeferre because he obviously knows what happened and I can’t tell you because Combeferre already told you what happened.”

“Just tell me,” Enjolras said sternly.

“Wowza, don’t be so impatient,” Courfeyrac said, sticking out his tongue. He laughed, bouncing up and down in his chair a little. “He kissed me,” he added, his voice a mere whisper, “I mean, he kissed me on the cheek and I’ve been on many first dates and second dates and whatever dates, but let me tell you, I’ve never been this excited about getting a kiss on the cheek.” He took a deep breath. “He’s so perfect, Enjolras, I know I’ve been making a lot of jokes about how perfect Combeferre is in the past, but I’m _so_ serious now.”

Enjolras wasn’t so sure what to say – this was easier when they were talking about politics, because then they were on the same level. When it came to relationships, Enjolras was the opposite of helpful.

Courfeyrac didn’t seem to mind that Enjolras didn’t have anything helpful to say, though. He just kept talking. “But it’s really weird, you know, because he’s Combeferre and I just… really wasn’t expecting this.”

“I guess it’s safe to say that he wasn’t either,” Enjolras said, shrugging lightly.

“Yeah, sometimes stuff just happens,” Courfeyrac quickly glanced at Grantaire, who was carrying around a tray with coffee, and then back at Enjolras, looking at him for a long moment, obviously thinking. “You’re okay with this, right?” he asked eventually.

“Of course I am,” Enjolras said. Combeferre had been running around their apartment with an almost smug smile plastered to his face for weeks now and Enjolras was pretty sure that he knew why.

“Okay, I just felt like I should ask because we’re a team, you and me and Combeferre,” Courfeyrac said. “It’s always been the three of us and we’ve always shared everything, but I’m definitely not going to share Combeferre with you.” Courfeyrac blinked at him. “That sounded weird. Anyway,” he added and reached out to take Enjolras’ hand, “please don’t feel like I don’t love you anymore.”

Enjolras only gave him a look and Courfeyrac quickly turned his attention to his bagel.

* * *

“You brought _Enjolras_?”

“Thanks a lot,” Enjolras grumbled, folding his arms across his chest.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” Grantaire said and put an arm on Enjolras’ back, “but I think that someone like… Bahorel would have been more helpful.”

“Bahorel couldn’t make it,” Courfeyrac said, shrugging apologetically, “but you have me and Combeferre and Musichetta.” He grinned. “And Enjolras.”

“I’m so glad that you’re here,” Grantaire whispered to Musichetta, who laughed and opened the trunk of her car.

Enjolras wasn’t sure what exactly had happened before he’d got here – Courfeyrac had sent him a text with an address, telling him to get Combeferre and come help him. Apparently he and Musichetta had taken Grantaire to IKEA to buy furniture for his new apartment, which was about as small as it could possibly be, the floorboards a little uneven, but the walls freshly painted and just around the corner from the Musain.

Enjolras glanced into the trunk, where he found two huge blue bags full of knick-knack. “Did you get anything other than cups and hangers and pillows?”

“Yes, we also got plates and cutlery and a pan,” Courfeyrac said gleefully.

“And a coffee table,” Musichetta added.

“But you can’t sleep on a coffee table,” Combeferre said slowly.

“Yeah, they’re delivering the mattress on Friday,” Grantaire said, “and I’m also getting a sofa at some point, but I’m kinda broke now.”

“Well, we’re definitely gonna have a housewarming party,” Courfeyrac said and elbowed Grantaire in the ribs. “I mean, I’m not gonna give you a sofa, but maybe a chair or something.”

Grantaire snorted and pulled at one of the bags and handed it to Enjolras, who grabbed it and dropped it almost instantly. Musichetta took it from him, patted his cheek and vanished into the building.

“Here, carry this,” Grantaire said, grinning as he handed him a fleece blanket, then he pulled a square carton off the backseat. That was probably the coffee table. 

Enjolras dutifully carried the fleece blanket upstairs and was then instructed to unpack all the dishes while Combeferre and Courfeyrac started putting together the coffee table and Musichetta and Grantaire went downstairs to fetch the rest of Grantaire’s stuff.

Grantaire’s kitchen was tiny, but Enjolras managed to find a place for all the cups and plates and the pan. There was nothing in the fridge except for some cheese, no food at all in any of the cupboards. He was annoyed somehow, maybe at himself because his stomach lurched every time Grantaire smiled at him, or because Grantaire wouldn’t take better care of himself, or maybe because he cared much more then he wanted to.

“You need to buy groceries,” Enjolras told Grantaire when he came walking into the kitchen a while later.

Grantaire gasped. “What? I thought the fridge was going to fill itself.”

“You don’t even have coffee, how do you survive?”

“I literally got the keys to this place this morning, I haven’t really had the time to get _everything_ sorted, okay?”

“Okay,” Enjolras said gruffly.

“Anyway, what the hell would I do with coffee?” Grantaire huffed out a laugh. “I don’t even have a coffeemaker.”

“Maybe you’ll get one,” Enjolras said. “You know, for your housewarming party.”

“I don’t want you guys to buy me stuff,” Grantaire grumbled.

“It’s only polite.”

Grantaire sighed and Enjolras wasn’t sure if it was out of exasperation or because he was tired from having spent half the day at IKEA with Courfeyrac. “Well, thanks for coming over and helping,” Grantaire said lowly.

“No problem,” Enjolras mumbled. He was Grantaire’s friend. Friends helped their friends when they moved into apartments and they made sure that they didn’t starve or had to live without coffee.

“Okay, I’ll just…” Grantaire smiled awkwardly and pointed to the door, retreating quickly.

* * *

“Courfeyrac wants to know if you want to chip in on the armchair we got for Grantaire even though you’re not coming to the party.” Combeferre stepped into his room with a grin on his face. “He’d also like me to tell you that he’s very disappointed that you’re not joining us.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. He was too busy struggling with his suit to reply.

“He’s actually very proud of you,” Combeferre went on and took his tie from him. “We all are.” He made quick work of Enjolras’ tie. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” Enjolras said. He’d been invited to several events ever since he’d started working for the paper, but this time he’d been invited personally, not as a journalist but as a guest of Monsieur Lamarque himself. “But he obviously liked that article I wrote about him, so I probably have no reason to be.”

“Try to have a good time, alright?” Combeferre said, smiling at him.

“I’ll try my hardest,” Enjolras said dryly. “Tell Courfeyrac that I’m very sorry that I can’t make it to the party.”

“I will.” Combeferre fixed Enjolras’ tie. It was much too tight but Enjolras knew that there was no point in complaining. “So, what about that armchair?”

Enjolras dug some money out of his wallet and handed it to Combeferre. He’d also got something else for Grantaire, which was why he took a cab to Grantaire’s apartment before he went to the reception. He was just going to give it to him real quick, then he’d be on his way.

Grantaire opened the door for him, covered in paint from head to toe. “Enjolras?”

“I just wanted to bring this over,” Enjolras said and held up the box with the coffeemaker he’d bought for Grantaire, “since I can’t make it to the party.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, reaching out but quickly pulling back his hands again. “Thank you, I’m sorry, I don’t want to get your suit dirty, it looks really fancy.” He wiped his hands on his shirt, but didn’t really get any of the paint off. “Can you just… put it somewhere?”

Enjolras nodded and stepped inside. Grantaire’s apartment was still mostly empty – there was his coffee table surrounded by pillows and a bonsai on the windowsill, which was undoubtedly a gift from Jehan.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything,” Grantaire was saying as he followed Enjolras into the kitchen. “Not that I’m not glad that I can make my own coffee now,” he added, peering into the box with a bright smile. “Thank you, Enjolras, really.”

“Well, coffee is important,” Enjolras said with a shrug.

“I agree,” Grantaire said, still grinning. “I definitely owe you a hug. You know, when you’re not wearing a suit and I’m not covered in paint.”

“Yeah, where exactly did all that paint come from?” Enjolras asked.

“I’m painting my bedroom, but I’m basically done,” Grantaire replied, tugging his fingers through his hair. “So, you’re headed to that reception that Lamarque invited you to?”

“I am,” Enjolras said. He was a little surprised that Grantaire knew, he hadn’t been to any of their meetings since he’d come to Paris and Enjolras didn’t remember mentioning it to him. “Who told you?”

“Courfeyrac,” Grantaire said, his lips twitching. “He’s really excited about it.”

Enjolras smiled. “Well, so am I. Have a nice party tonight.”

“Oh yeah, it’s going to be great, I have no furniture and no TV,” Grantaire said, “I mean, it actually echoes out there. But Joly and Bossuet are going to bring board games, so I guess it won’t be too bad.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a good time,” Enjolras said, slowly moving back towards the front door.

“Maybe you could join us after the reception?”

Enjolras nodded. “If it doesn’t get too late.” He was sure they’d still be here, no matter what time he left the reception. Enjolras knew his friends, they didn’t go home early, even when they were just playing board games all night.

“Great,” Grantaire said, looking like he was about to pat Enjolras’ back for a second. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead. “See you later, then. And thanks for the coffeemaker.”

“You’re very welcome,” Enjolras said and then turned to leave.

* * *

He was one of the first people at the reception and was immediately greeted by Lamarque’s personal secretary, who handed him a drink and introduced him to what seemed like the entirety of Lamarque’s staff.

Enjolras talked to countless people that usually wouldn’t even pay him any mind. They actually listened to what he had to say and for the first time Enjolras was actually glad that Courfeyrac had convinced him to have some business cards for their group printed.

He got a couple of texts from Courfeyrac in between – apparently his friends were playing Monopoly, which was never a good idea, because everyone got ridiculously competitive and one time it had ended with  Marius bursting into tears. Part of him was glad that he didn’t have to witness whatever was going on in Grantaire’s apartment right now.

Lamarque came to talk to him a little later in the evening and Enjolras probably thanked him a little too enthusiastically for inviting him, but Lamarque didn’t seem to be bothered by it.

Enjolras ended up staying almost until the very end, but took a cab back to Grantaire’s anyway.

He could see that the lights were still on, so he figured that his friends were still there. A few seconds after he’d rang the doorbell, one of Grantaire’s windows opened and Grantaire appeared. “What are you doing here?”

“You told me to come by after the reception, remember?” Enjolras said, probably much too loud. He was likely going to end up getting murdered by one of Grantaire’s neighbors if they kept having this conversation like this.

“Yeah, I know, but everyone’s left,” Grantaire said. He looked up and down the street, then back at Enjolras, who was still standing beneath his window, feeling a little lost.

“They left?” Enjolras asked.

“Yeah…” Grantaire shrugged. “Whatever, come up…”

He vanished and then the door buzzed, so Enjolras couldn’t tell him that it was fine, that he’d just go home. He quickly walked over to the door to push it open and made his way up the stairs to Grantaire’s apartment.


	12. Chapter 12

Grantaire was waiting for him upstairs, leaning in the doorway with a smirk on his face. He bid Enjolras inside with a curtsey.

“Thanks for the armchair,” Grantaire said as way of greeting him. “Courfeyrac said you chipped in as well.”

“I didn’t want you to have to sit on the floor,” Enjolras mumbled, looking around Grantaire’s empty living area. There were a couple of empty glasses on the coffee table, his new armchair was standing by the window, the pillows that had been lying around the table were now strewn all over the place.

“Sitting on the floor actually isn’t so bad,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “And Joly and Bossuet got into a pillow fight over Monopoly, so I’m actually glad that I don’t have any furniture yet.”

Enjolras laughed and shrugged off his suit jacket.

“Here, let me…” Grantaire reached out to take the jacket from him, obviously not quite sure where to put it. “Well, I have hangers but nowhere to hang it, I clearly didn’t think this through.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Enjolras muttered, took the jacket from Grantaire and draped it over the armchair. He tugged his tie off as well; he didn’t need that one anymore.

“Can I get you anything?” Grantaire asked. “I don’t think I have any clean glasses left, but I can get you a mug of water. Or coffee.” He grinned. “I have a coffeemaker now. But you obviously know that.”

“I’m good,” Enjolras said and sat down on one of the pillows.

Grantaire joined him, looking at him for a long moment. “Well…” He fell silent again and Enjolras could tell that he was quite possibly starting to ask himself why exactly he’d invited him to come upstairs. “Joly took Monopoly back home with him, otherwise we could have played.”

“I don’t like Monopoly,” Enjolras said lowly.

Grantaire only hummed and drew his knees up to his chest. Neither of them said a word for another minute or two, then Grantaire sighed. “This is weird. Not that I don’t want to hang out with you or anything, I mean, I really couldn’t leave you standing down there, but yeah, we haven’t really talked ever since that thing with my dad happened…” He trailed off, chewing on his bottom lip. “I’m really sorry for just leaving, I know I should have come by to say thank you and–”

“You didn’t have to say thank you,” Enjolras interrupted. “A simple goodbye would have been enough.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Grantaire said gruffly. “I just didn’t want to force anyone to put up with my moody self.”

Enjolras wanted to tell him that he’d always be welcome at his place, that he’d never send him away, but he only nodded.

“So, how was the reception?” Grantaire asked, looking somewhat relieved to finally be able to change the topic. “Did Lamarque ask you to become his manservant?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Obviously not. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to work for a politician.”

“You’d rather write about them, huh?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, “I’d rather write the _truth_ about them.”

“Hm, yeah, that’s a hard thing to do when you work for one of them,” Grantaire mused.

“Lamarque is actually one of the good ones,” Enjolras told him, “but he isn’t entirely unproblematic.”

“No one is entirely unproblematic.” Grantaire smirked. “Not even you.”

“Well, I am trying my hardest to be.”

“And I admire you for it,” Grantaire said with a wink.

Enjolras really wasn’t in the mood for any of Grantaire’s mockeries, so he decided that it was now his turn to change the topic. “How’s your job at the Musain?”

“My bosses are pretty rad,” Grantaire replied. “And it’s a job.”

“Things weren’t going too well in London, were they?” Enjolras asked bluntly. He’d been wondering for a while and he hadn’t been sure whether or not he should ask.

“No,” Grantaire said, not quite meeting Enjolras’ eye, “not so well. I had to move because I couldn’t pay for my flat anymore and things just went downhill from there, I guess. And the thing with my dad was… the funeral… it wasn’t nice.”

“I’m sorry.”

Grantaire shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be happy to see me, to be honest. I mean, my grandma was. She’s basically the reason I’m here. She gave me some money and it was enough for me to stay in London for a few more weeks and to get my last commissions done.”

Enjolras looked up at that. “Are you still doing commissions?”

“Well, technically yes, but nobody knows me here.”

“Maybe I could ask around at the paper, we always–”

“Enjolras, no offense, but I don’t… you guys have already helped me enough.”

“It really wouldn’t be a problem.”

Grantaire shook his head. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Enjolras whispered. Somehow he believed him. “You look happier,” he said lowly, “you know, happier than when I last saw you.”

Grantaire gave him a look, his eyebrows raised.

“Well, you need a haircut, but…” Enjolras shrugged, smiling at Grantaire to somehow make this less awkward. “Other than that you look…”

“Yes?” Grantaire asked, looking vaguely amused.

Good. Grantaire looked good. And Enjolras actually really liked his hair. It looked fluffy and there were still a few streaks of yellow paint that he’d probably missed in the shower – Enjolras thought about running his fingers through Grantaire’s curls for a couple of seconds too long. He cleared his throat. “Happy?” he tried.

For some reason, Grantaire’s smile grew a little wider. “Yeah, you already said that.”

Enjolras hummed lowly. “Did you, um…” He pointed at the yellow paint in Grantaire’s hair, “did you finish painting your bedroom?”

Grantaire’s whole face lit up. “I did, do you want to see it?”

“Sure,” Enjolras said and let Grantaire pull him to his feet. He led him to his bedroom – the lights were already on.

Grantaire’s bedroom, just like the rest of his flat, was relatively empty. There was a suitcase in the corner, a couple of shirts and a pair of jeans lying in a heap next to it, a mattress on the floor and a guitar case next to it, a laptop sitting on top. Opposite the bed Grantaire had painted a skyline on the wall. “Sit down,” Grantaire said and ushered him over to the bed. “I’m not sure if it works yet.”

Enjolras was definitely confused now, but did take a seat. Grantaire remained standing by the door, shifting from one foot to the other.

“What are we waiting for?” Enjolras asked, tilting his head.

“You’ll see,” Grantaire said, making a face. “Hopefully. I didn’t turn the lights on until the others left, but I guess it should be alright.” He grinned, went to draw the curtains shut – although they looked more like bedsheets that Grantaire had slung over the curtain rod – and turned off the lights.

Enjolras turned his attention back to the skyline and, _oh_ , he understood now. It was glowing, the outline and the windows, and all he could utter was a quiet impressed noise.

The mattress dipped when Grantaire sat down next to him. “Well, I guess it turned out alright.”

“It’s amazing,” Enjolras whispered.

“It wears off after a while,” Grantaire muttered. “Then it recharges over the day. It’s pretty neat.”

“Certainly,” Enjolras said. He leaned back, his eyes still on the skyline.

Grantaire let out a small sigh, shifting as well. It was nice, in a way, sitting next to Grantaire in the darkness in comfortable silence.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire whispered after a while.

“Hm?”

“There’s something I noticed and I thought you might know. I’m just curious. Combeferre and Courfeyrac…” Grantaire paused. “They’re together, aren’t they?”

Enjolras only let out a vague humming noise. As far as he knew Combeferre and Courfeyrac hadn’t told their friends yet and it really wasn’t his place to confirm or deny it.

“Thought so,” Grantaire said.

“I didn’t say they were.”

“Yeah, but…” Grantaire laughed quietly. “They were looking at each other all adoringly and it was kinda hard to miss. Maybe you should tell Combeferre. You know, that they’re being really obvious,” he said. “Anyway, good for them. I didn’t think Combeferre was, um, interested in relationships, but I guess that’s none of my business.”

“I’ll tell them,” Enjolras only said. He bit his lip. “Does Jehan know?”

“Yeah, I guess he’s noticed. As I said, it’s really hard to miss,” Grantaire said, shifting and bumping against him in the darkness. He quickly muttered an apology and inched away again. “Why are you asking?”

“I was just wondering…” He trailed off. It was ridiculous, he shouldn’t have brought it up.

“I’m sure Jehan’s over Courfeyrac,” Grantaire said dryly. “Very, very much over Courfeyrac. It’s been years since they broke up.”

“Right,” Enjolras said lowly. Of course Grantaire had figured it out anyway. “It’s been years.”

“They’re good together, the two of them,” Grantaire mumbled. “I can see that, Jehan can see it, too.”

“I agree,” Enjolras said. Even though Combeferre and Courfeyrac cuddling on his living room couch was still a sight he hadn’t quite got used to.

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re not dating a hot activist who goes to protests with you and is the first to sign your stupid petitions?”

Enjolras hit into the darkness, quite satisfied when Grantaire let out a pained huff. “My petitions are not stupid. They raise awareness and help people voice their opinions. They have a right to go against whatever they think is wrong in their country.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Grantaire teased.

“Well, maybe it’s none of your business.”

“Christ, I’m sorry I asked.” Grantaire sighed. “I was just interested, ‘s all.”

Enjolras let out a low grumble.

“How’s work, then?”

“Work’s fine,” Enjolras said curtly.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Grantaire said, his tone a little too cheerful. “And how’s Cosette?” he asked. “It’s a shame that she and Marius couldn’t make it today.”

“Cosette is fine,” Enjolras replied.

“And what about–”

“I’m not dating anyone, are you happy now?”  Enjolras snapped.

“Happy is not the word I’d use, but alright.” He still sounded cheerful, but now it seemed a little more genuine.

They fell silent again and all Enjolras could hear was Grantaire’s quiet breathing and the occasional car driving by outside and the cough of Grantaire’s neighbor. He only barely noticed that his eyes kept fluttering shut.

He knew that he should get up and go back home before he got too tired, but Grantaire’s mattress was actually really comfortable and he just didn’t feel like leaving just yet, so he kept staring at Grantaire’s skyline, not even noticing when he eventually drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Something was ringing and Enjolras wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it definitely sounded a lot like his phone. Which was strange, because it was dark, and normally no one called him when it was this dark.

He blinked slowly, prying his phone out of the pocket of his pants, his hands getting tangled in a blanket that someone must have draped around him. “What?” he answered.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said sourly, “you’re still alive, that’s good to know.”

“Course I’m alive,” Enjolras muttered.

“Where are you?” Combeferre asked, sounding scarily calm. “Are you in jail?”

Enjolras, still not quite awake, frowned. “Why would I be in jail?” he asked. “Why would I be answering my phone if I was in jail?”

Someone next to him laughed lowly. Grantaire. He was still at Grantaire’s.

“Are you _drunk_?”

Enjolras quickly sat up, wide awake all of a sudden. “I’m fine, I swear. I’ll be back home in–”

“In the morning,” Grantaire’s sleepy voice supplied.

Enjolras sighed. “In the morning,” he repeated.

“Alright,” Combeferre said, his tone somewhat resigned now.  “I’ll go back to bed, then. See you in the morning.”

“Yes, see you in the morning,” Enjolras whispered. He should have probably thanked Combeferre for checking on him, but he’d already hung up before the thought had even formed in his mind.

“Combeferre?” Grantaire asked.

“Yes,” Enjolras replied. “He was worried.”

“Why did he think you were in jail?” The mattress shook a little and Grantaire’s voice sounded a little closer now. “Did that happen before? That you didn’t come home because you were in jail?”

Enjolras groaned. He’d rather not remember that unfortunate incident. “Well, there was this one time… involving me and… a vandalism charge.”

“Vandalism,” Grantaire echoed. “Interesting.”

“It’s really not so interesting,” Enjolras whispered. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt – as much as he wanted to take his pants and his dress shirt off, it probably wasn’t the best idea. It was bad enough that he’d ended up in the same bed with Grantaire. “Are you sure it’s alright if I stay?”

“Go to sleep, Enjolras,” Grantaire only said.

Enjolras had trouble going to sleep just like that, though. He’d obviously been aware that his thoughts had dwelled on Grantaire a little more than they should have during the last few weeks, but he’d told himself that it had only been so because he was worried, because Grantaire had been going through a rough time.

But now, in the darkness of Grantaire’s room, sleeping next to him seemed like something he couldn’t possibly do. His fingers were itching to reach out, to pull Grantaire closer and to hold him until they had to get up in the morning.

Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he’d just gone home right after the reception.

At some point he must have fallen asleep despite all the thoughts coursing through his mind and when he woke up again the early morning light was already filtering into the room through Grantaire’s makeshift curtains.

Grantaire was still asleep, his mouth hanging open a little and his face half-buried in a pillow. Enjolras watched him for a minute, maybe two, then he slipped out of bed as quietly as he could manage, folded the blanket that Grantaire had wrapped around him at night and tiptoed over to the door.

“You sneaking out?”

Enjolras froze, turning around slowly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Grantaire propped himself up on his elbows, grinning wryly. “Yeah, that much is obvious.” He blew a stray curl out of his face. “You know, I would have made you coffee. With my coffeemaker.”

“I really can’t stay,” Enjolras said. He took a step closer to the door. “Thanks for…”

Grantaire nodded. “Sure thing. Well, see you around, I guess,” he muttered, his expression carefully blank.

“Yeah, see you,” Enjolras said and made a quick escape. He picked up his suit jacket and his tie, pulled on his shoes and walked downstairs to hail a cab. Usually he’d take public transport, but right now he just wanted to go home.

* * *

Combeferre was already waiting for him when he got back to their apartment. He was sitting in the kitchen, reading the morning paper, an empty mug and a plate for Enjolras already on the table.

“Good morning,” Enjolras mumbled as he sat down.

Combeferre lowered his paper, his lips pursed. “Good morning to you, too.”

Enjolras bit his lip. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Raising his eyebrows, Combeferre put away the paper altogether and poured Enjolras some coffee. “I’m aware that you’re an adult and that you can do whatever you want,” Combeferre said lowly, his eyes never leaving Enjolras’, “but I can’t help being worried when I wake up in the middle of the night and you’re not home. I wasn’t trying to be nosy, I just want you to know that, but I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know when you’re planning on spending the night elsewhere in the future.”

“I will,” Enjolras promised. “Just for the record, I wasn’t actually planning on not coming home last night.”

“I figured as much,” Combeferre mused. “Did you at least have a nice evening?”

Enjolras made a face, not exactly sure how to reply. He didn’t know if telling Combeferre that he’d spent the night at Grantaire’s was such a good idea.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Combeferre added quickly.

“I went to Grantaire’s after the reception,” Enjolras blurted out before he could change his mind. “You guys weren’t there anymore and I just wanted to stay a little while longer, but then I fell asleep. I was tired, that’s it.”

“You spent the night with Grantaire?”

“Well, I spent the night _at_ Grantaire’s. Not _with_ him. Well, with him, we slept in the same bed, but nothing happened.”

Combeferre looked at him for a long moment, scrutinizing him, probably judging him, and Enjolras knew that Combeferre was seeing right through him.

“But that’s not all,” Combeferre said slowly.

Enjolras leaned back in his chair, thinking. This was Combeferre, his best friend – if he couldn’t tell him then who could he tell? Enjolras sighed. “I think I may still have feelings for him.”

Combeferre’s expression hardly changed, he just leaned a little closer. “And what do you intend to do about that?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras said matter-of-factly. “He doesn’t feel the same way about me and getting back together with him is definitely not an option anyway.”

“It’s not?” Combeferre asked. He didn’t sound surprised. He’d been there when Grantaire had left for Italy, he wasn’t asking why, he was asking if Enjolras was sure.

“It’s not,” Enjolras said firmly.


	13. Chapter 13

It was hard for Enjolras to keep his mind off Grantaire when he was practically everywhere – he came to their meetings, he came to birthday parties, he worked at the Musain, for heaven’s sake.

Enjolras loved the Musain and not only because it belonged to Jehan and Bahorel. It was a good place to work at, not too loud, but there was always some pleasant chatter in the background and Jehan snuck him at least one cupcake per visit that Enjolras tried to pay for with incredibly generous tips.

Even though Grantaire was nice enough to him, the longer he stuck around, the more often it happened that he and Enjolras ended up arguing. Especially when Grantaire decided to show how much he disagreed by making quiet disapproving noises.

“Did you want to say something?” Enjolras asked loudly.

Grantaire looked at him for a long moment. “Well,” he said eventually, “I get that you have a huge boner for this guy, but–”

“That’s hardly a respectful way of talking about someone,” Enjolras interrupted.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Grantaire went on, completely ignoring Enjolras, “that you should probably keep in mind that as great as Lamarque is, he’s still a politician. What he really wants is to win the elections.”

“And you think for that reason he doesn’t deserve our support? He might actually change things, Grantaire.”

“Well, just don’t be too disappointed when he doesn’t care too much about the promises he’s made in the end,” Grantaire said with a shrug. He smiled at something behind Enjolras and stood up, grabbing his jacket and his bag. “Gotta dash, I’ll see you guys around.”

He waved at everyone and was out the door seconds later, sweeping a redheaded girl into an embrace outside the café. Enjolras was sure he’d seen her before, but he couldn’t quite remember when and where.

“Who’s that?” he asked, frowning at the two.

Courfeyrac made a noise that sounded vaguely like a snort. “That’s Floreal, Enjolras. You remember her, right?”

“Oh,” Enjolras said. “Of course.” He hadn’t seen her in years, but it didn’t exactly surprise him that Grantaire had kept in touch with her.

“You’re staring,” Combeferre whispered on his right.

Enjolras cleared his throat and quickly turned back around. “Right, as I was saying…” He looked down at his notes but couldn’t quite figure out what exactly it was that he’d been talking about. “Courfeyrac, why don’t you and Joly tell us about that petition you’re planning on setting up?”

Joly looked to Courfeyrac, quietly nodding at him to let him know that he’d leave the talking to him.

Enjolras cast one last glance at the window, but Grantaire and Floreal were long gone, so he turned his attention back to their meeting, doing his best to keep his thoughts from wandering.

* * *

“You’re working too much,” Grantaire said as he put down another cup of coffee next to Enjolras. “And you’re drinking too much coffee.”

Enjolras glowered up at him, reached for the cup and took a sip. It was scalding hot, but he somehow managed to keep glaring. “Jehan never comments on how much coffee I’m drinking,” he said lowly. No one other than Combeferre ever did. Combeferre usually didn’t even _say_ anything, he just gave him reproachful looks.

“Well, I’m not Jehan,” Grantaire said. He looked around the empty café and sat down across from Enjolras. “What are you working on?”

“Sexual and romantic orientations,” Enjolras mumbled, eyeing Grantaire warily. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for listening to any derogatory remarks right now.

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Your own or…?”

“Obviously not,” Enjolras said, only barely refraining from rolling his eyes. “It’s for the paper. I’m going to interview people with different romantic and sexual orientations so people might start noticing that there are other things than straight and gay.”

“I thought you were in charge of political stuff?”

“I usually am,” Enjolras replied. His boss had asked him to do it, though, and Enjolras thought it was an important issue so saying no hadn’t really been an option for him, which was what he also told Grantaire.

Grantaire hummed thoughtfully and Enjolras knew that there was something he wanted to say, but he didn’t get to hear it because Bahorel called his name and Grantaire quickly jumped up to see what he wanted.

Enjolras turned back to writing emails to potential interviewees.

Grantaire returned a minute later and went to flip over the open sign at the door. “I’m gonna start closing up, you can stay until I’m done.”

 “Thank you,” Enjolras said, smiling at him briefly. He quickly finished his coffee so Grantaire could put away the cup.

Grantaire wordlessly left a cupcake in its wake when he took it.

Enjolras thanked him and then packed up his belongings because Grantaire was starting to put up the chairs and Enjolras really didn’t want to keep him from getting home because he was in the way. 

And even though Enjolras knew that he shouldn’t, he kept coming back to the Musain when Grantaire was on the Friday evening shift.

If he went home there was a good chance that he’d find Combeferre and Courfeyrac cuddling on the couch and although he could also stay at the office, he preferred killing a couple of hours at the café before he headed home.

Grantaire didn’t seem to think it was strange that Enjolras showed up so frequently. If he did, he never said a word about it. He threatened to stop selling coffee to Enjolras only once and didn’t comment on his work, even though he sometimes peered over his shoulder to see what he was writing, and Enjolras was actually starting to feel like it wasn’t completely impossible for them to get along.

He just had to ignore the not-so-helpful comments that Grantaire kept muttering under his breath during their meetings.

Enjolras was also on a good way to convincing himself that even though he saw Grantaire all the time, he was definitely getting over those ridiculous feelings he’d been harboring.

He just needed to look at things rationally and he’d forget all about them eventually. Obviously spending as much time at the Musain as he did wasn’t the best way to go about it, but it wasn’t like he could just stay away completely.

* * *

Enjolras was very well that he was early for his lunch date with Cosette, but after he’d run into Combeferre and Courfeyrac kissing in the kitchen, he’d decided that he might as well head out early.

He wasn’t exactly sure why Cosette had asked him to meet her, although he was guessing that it had something to do with the wedding. It was only a month away – Courfeyrac had started planning Marius’ bachelor party weeks ago.

The Musain was crowded when Enjolras arrived, but it was mostly people standing in line to get some coffee to go and maybe a sandwich or a bagel. Jehan was behind the counter, Grantaire was talking to a girl who was sitting by the window. This time Enjolras immediately recognized her as Floreal.

Enjolras sat down at the table in the back, watching as Grantaire laughed at something that Floreal said to him. He gave her a nudge, but quickly excused himself and approached Enjolras.

“Can I get you anything?”

“I’m waiting for Cosette,” Enjolras told him.

“Okay, good for you,” Grantaire said, grinning down at him. “Can I get you anything while you wait? I think we still have some chicken wraps, you like those, don’t you?”

Enjolras blinked up at him in confusion. “I do, yeah…”

“You get them pretty much every time you come here for lunch, that’s how I know,” Grantaire said dryly. “No need to look so confused.”

“I’ll take those, then,” Enjolras said. “And some water please.”

Grantaire was back with his order about the same time that Cosette arrived, which earned Enjolras a punch in the arm.

“You ordered without me?” Cosette asked.

“Mozzarella and ham panini?” Grantaire asked her.

Cosette bestowed him with a bright smile. “You’re perfect.”

“I do my best,” Grantaire said, winking at here before he wandered off to get her food.

“Look at Grantaire saving your ass,” Cosette said, smiling at Enjolras. “I don’t have much time, but there are some things we need to talk over.”

“For the wedding?” Enjolras asked.

“Exactly,” Cosette said and pulled a gigantic planner out of her bag. “Right, let’s get the annoying stuff out of the way first. Our mother has told me to please ask you if you’re sure that you won’t be bringing a plus one.”

“Enjolras, I’d be careful there, your mum might bring a plus one for you if you don’t bring one yourself,” Grantaire said as he put down Cosette’s panini on the table.

Enjolras groaned. “I’m coming on my own.”

“I figured as much,” Cosette said, grinning at Grantaire before she turned back to Enjolras. “I’ll just try to convince her that you’re going to meet someone nice at the wedding.”

“Fantastic,” Enjolras grumbled.

“Right, so you’re going to stay at the house with us, and so will Musichetta because she’s a bridesmaid and maybe Joly and Bossuet as well. Courfeyrac is staying at the house, too, so maybe the two of you can drive there together since all of our other friends are staying at one of the inns in town,” she rattled off. “Oh, and do you think Combeferre might want to stay with Courfeyrac? I told Marius to ask him, but I think he’s embarrassed.”

“I suppose they wouldn’t mind sharing a room,” Enjolras said with a shrug. “I can ask them later.”

“Thank you,” Cosette said, leaning a little closer. “Now… there’s something I need to ask you. It’s alright if you don’t want to, but I already spoke to both our parents and I talked them into thinking that this is a marvelous idea,” she went on. “I want you to walk me down the aisle.”

Enjolras stared at her for a moment. “You actually told our father that you don’t want him to walk you down the aisle but that you’d rather have me do it instead?”

“Yes,” Cosette replied, smiling sweetly. “I obviously worded it differently, but that’s pretty much the gist of it.”

“Okay,” Enjolras only said.

“ _Okay_ you’re impressed or _okay_ you’re going to do it?” Cosette asked.

“Both, I suppose,” Enjolras said. He certainly wasn’t the best person she could have chosen for this, but Enjolras would gladly do it if that was what she wanted.

“Thank you,” she said and picked up her panini to take a huge bite. “Are you going to wear a tux?”

“Should I be wearing a tux?” Enjolras asked.

“No, a suit is fine,” Cosette said. “But you certainly wouldn’t look bad in a tux.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’ll get you a tie that you can take off the second you think no one’s watching.”

“Gee, thanks,” Enjolras mumbled.

“Don’t make me throw my fork at you.” Cosette kicked his shin under the table. “I have the last fitting for my dress in a bit, do you want to come?”

“I actually need to get back to work,” Enjolras said, smiling apologetically.

“Of course you do.” Cosette then got distracted by something behind Enjolras. “Oh my god, is that Floreal?”

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah, that’s her.”

“I have to go say hello, I’ll be right back.”

Enjolras only sighed and started nibbling at his chicken wrap because Cosette probably wouldn’t return to him for a while.

* * *

“How do you feel about palm trees?”

Enjolras looked up from his laptop. “Palm trees?” he echoed. He’d noticed that Grantaire had started closing up and he’d actually been expecting him to ask him to leave.

Grantaire pointed at the board behind the counter. “Jehan asked me to do a new picture when I have time,” he explained. “And since you look like you’re busy and probably don’t feel like being thrown out of the café right about now, I figured I might as well do it now.”

“If you don’t mind,” Enjolras said. He was working on an article to accompany the interviews he was doing for the paper and he was on a roll right now.

“Not at all.” Grantaire neatly laid out the chalk and then started wiping the board clean. “Let me know if you want more coffee.” He grinned. “Or just make yourself some coffee, you know how it works.”

Enjolras nodded. “Beaches are nice, too,” he said and then turned his attention back to his work.

“Beaches,” he could hear Grantaire mumble.

He stopped paying attention to what Grantaire was doing then and started typing away again. It was just a first draft, but he was already pretty content with what he was coming up with.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Grantaire moving about the café, probably waiting for the board to dry. Jehan popped in to ask if it was alright for him to leave and Grantaire sent him home, promising he’d lock the door when he left.

Enjolras realized that he should probably leave together with Jehan, but it’d feel rude to just go now since Grantaire was partly sticking around so Enjolras didn’t have to interrupt his work, so Enjolras only waved at Jehan and thanked him when he told him to help himself to one of the leftover muffins.

When Enjolras finally felt like his article sounded acceptable, he closed his laptop and stood up to stretch. He found Grantaire still working on the board, but it looked like he was nearly done. 

He’d ended up drawing a beach _and_ palm trees, two beach chairs and a red sun setting in the background – the smoothie specials that Jehan had thought up for this summer were advertised all around it.

“It looks amazing,” Enjolras said as he joined Grantaire by the counter.

Grantaire wiped his hands on his apron, leaving streaks of chalk dust behind. “Yeah, it’s alright. Guess my talent isn’t entirely wasted,” he muttered.

“Have you tried to find a different job?” Enjolras asked. “Maybe one in graphic design?”

“Nah, but apparently people on the internet really like buying random people’s art. I set up a store online and I did a few more of those skylines, but on canvas and people seem to actually love them.”

Enjolras smiled. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, I’ve been asked to do different skylines and shit.”

Enjolras wasn’t sure if it was inappropriate for him to tell Grantaire that he was proud of him. It probably was, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Anyway,” Grantaire said, “are you excited for Marius’ bachelor party?”

“Yes, terribly excited,” Enjolras replied. Thankfully Courfeyrac had decided to have the party the weekend before the wedding. To avoid a reenactment of _The Hangover_ , he’d said.

“Aw, come on,” Grantaire said, nudging him, “I bet it’ll be fun.”

“I suppose it won’t be that bad. I’m glad that Marius told Courfeyrac that he doesn’t want any strippers. I don’t think I could handle the second-hand embarrassment.”

Grantaire snorted. “Marius will probably still have the worst hangover of his life on Sunday.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“Have you found a plus one for the wedding yet?” Grantaire asked teasingly.

“You’re starting to sound like my mother,” Enjolras muttered. “She told Cosette that she’s scared that I might end up being single for the rest of my life.”

Grantaire laughed. “Wow, that’s…”

“She thinks I’m impossible to be with,” Enjolras went on. He usually didn’t care much about what his mother was thinking, but that had really pissed him off. It was none of her goddamned business whether or not he was in a relationship or whether he would ever be in one again.

“You’re not that bad,” Grantaire said, gently squeezing his hand. “Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

Enjolras stayed very still because Grantaire’s fingers were still curled around his hand and Enjolras really wasn’t sure if he wanted him to let go or to hold on forever.

Grantaire didn’t seem to be too sure about what he was supposed to do either. “I mean, you’re… we were… doing fine, right? Except for when we weren’t, but I suppose we just couldn’t go without arguing and we were pretty good at making up.”

“Yeah, we were,” Enjolras said. He slowly trailed his thumb over the back of Grantaire’s hand, almost expecting Grantaire to pull it away.

He didn’t and his fingers only twitched a little bit.

Enjolras looked down at him and found Grantaire staring right back, his expression unreadable. He turned ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving Enjolras’.

They were closer than before and Enjolras couldn’t remember leaning in, but their faces were only inches from each other now and all Enjolras could think about was leaning closer until their lips touched, to hold Grantaire close for however long he’d let him.

It was Grantaire who eventually leaned forward, resting his forehead against Enjolras’, staying still for a long moment.

Enjolras sighed and closed the distance between them.


	14. Chapter 14

Grantaire’s lips were soft and pliant beneath his, and he was gently cupping Enjolras’ cheek with one hand, the other one was buried in Enjolras’ hair. His hair tie had come loose and Enjolras wasn’t quite sure where it had gone, but that really wasn’t a priority right now.

He whined when Grantaire gave his curls a tug, went willingly when Grantaire pushed him against the counter that dug sharply into his back.

Grantaire’s hands wandered down his chest, to his hips, coming to a rest there while his lips brushed along the line of his jaw, nipped at the skin of his neck and then kissed him on the lips one more time, stilling there for a moment before he pulled away – too quickly for Enjolras to try to follow his lips.

“Shit,” Grantaire mumbled. He looked up at Enjolras with wide eyes, his lips still parted and his breath coming quickly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “but I really can’t… I can’t do this.”

Enjolras regarded him for a long moment and voiced the first thought that came to his mind. “Because of Floreal?”

“Floreal?” Grantaire repeated and Enjolras immediately knew that that was not it. “No, this has nothing to do with her and everything to do with you.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to reply, but Grantaire was faster.

“I mean, what the hell is this, Enjolras?” he asked, taking another step back. “What?”

“I don’t…” He trailed off, because he really wasn’t sure about his own feelings and he knew that he shouldn’t have kissed Grantaire in the first place, he should have figured out where he stood first, but it was a little too late for that.

“You don’t know,” Grantaire said, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I figured as much. I’ll tell you what this is. It’s fucking bullshit. You say you want to be friends? That’s cool. And I tried to be your friend, I really did, but you’re still… I don’t know, you’re around so much and you always look at me like…” Grantaire sighed and Enjolras never found out how exactly he looked at Grantaire. “And obviously I wasn’t just imagining things,” Grantaire went on. “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t know what exactly we are, but we’re sure as hell not _friends._ Friends don’t kiss. At least not like this.”

“I know,” Enjolras only said.

“So, what the fuck is going on here?” Grantaire asked. “Did you just kiss me because you felt like it or do you want to make it a regular thing, what the fuck do you want?”

“I’m not sure, I just–”

“Well, think about it,” Grantaire snapped.

Enjolras bit his lip. Grantaire usually wasn’t the first to shout and Enjolras had absolutely no idea how to deal with this. He needed some time to think, he couldn’t decide this right now. “I should go,” he said lowly. “I need to–”

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire interrupted, throwing up his hands. “Just leave, that’s definitely the best course of action, it’s not like there’s anything we should be talking about.”

“Well, it’s the same thing that you did,” Enjolras shot back. “You just left. And there was a lot that we needed to talk about, but it wasn’t like you cared, you just wrote me a postcard to let me know that you wouldn’t be coming home any time soon.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Grantaire said dryly. “Honestly, I fucking knew that this would come up again.”

“Well, what did you expect?”

“That you’d get over it maybe? It’s been years, Enjolras, and I’m not saying that I didn’t behave like a complete and utter shitbag and I’m sorry, but you can’t kiss me and then bring this crap up again, it’s not fair.” Grantaire was staring down at his shoes now. “It’s not fucking fair.”

Deep down Enjolras knew that Grantaire was right. Maybe Enjolras wanted him back, maybe he wanted to try again, but he just wasn’t sure and he didn’t know if he’d ever be.

“Well,” Grantaire muttered, “if you still want to go, then go. Because I’m done.” He didn’t sound angry anymore, just sad, and all Enjolras wanted to was to pull him into a hug, but he didn’t, didn’t try to stop Grantaire when he trudged off to the back of the café.

He was probably getting his belongings and the key to lock up and Enjolras considered waiting for him to come back, but he had a feeling that Grantaire probably wouldn’t be too happy about finding him still in the café.

Enjolras, feeling strangely wobbly on his feet, picked up his bag and walked out the door, the bell jingling when the door fell shut behind him.

He walked across the street to the bus stop there. He kept his eyes fixed on the Musain, saw the lights go off a couple of minutes later, then Grantaire stepped outside, walking down the street towards his apartment, never once looking in Enjolras’ direction.

Enjolras didn’t run across the street to talk to him, even though he knew that he should. He turned his head to look down the street instead, waiting for his bus to turn the corner.  

* * *

Enjolras wasn’t sure if it was selfish of him to hope that he wouldn’t find Combeferre and Courfeyrac in their apartment, being awfully couple-y, because he absolutely didn’t feel like hiding out in his room for the rest of the evening, but he didn’t want to intrude on whatever they were up to either.

He trudged up the stairs, feeling numb, he unlocked the door, toed off his shoes and slipped out of his jacket almost automatically. He found Combeferre and Courfeyrac in the living room playing scrabble. They both looked up when he came walking inside.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said happily, his smile quickly vanishing once he got a proper look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras shrugged and sat down next to him, drawing his legs up to his chest.

Courfeyrac frowned. “There’s something in your hair,” he said, winding a strand around his finger. “It’s blue.”

Enjolras bit his lip. That was probably the chalk dust that had still been on Grantaire’s fingers when he’d run them through his hair. He only made a vague sort of humming noise.

Combeferre looked at him, not saying a word. He knew that something was up, so did Courfeyrac, and Enjolras really wanted to tell them, but he didn’t even know where to start. He’d spent so much time telling them that there was absolutely no chance of him ever wanting to get back together with Grantaire. He wasn’t even sure when exactly he’d started feeling so differently.

“Did you have a bad day?” Courfeyrac tried and nudged him. “Do you want a hug?”

Enjolras gave him the slightest of nods and Courfeyrac’s arms were wrapped around him a second later.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Combeferre asked. He pushed the Scrabble board aside and scooted closer to them. “It’s alright if you don’t, but we’re here if you do.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Or we can build a pillow fort and watch a Disney film. How about _Aristocats_ , Combeferre and I were talking about watching that the other day.”

“I don’t like _Aristocats_ ,” Enjolras grumbled.

“Yes, you do,” Courfeyrac said, “you love cats, they’re adorable.”

Enjolras was quick to give in. “Fine, let’s do that,” he mumbled, starting to feel a little better when Courfeyrac started putting up a pillow fort around him and Combeferre.

He dutifully ate the leftover pizza that Courfeyrac got him and tried his hardest to pay attention to the movie, but couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering back to Grantaire every now and then. Enjolras had messed up terribly. He should have never brought up that postcard, but it was what had made him so angry in the first place.

It wasn’t like Grantaire had broken up with him on that godforsaken postcard, he’d never broken up with him at all. Fact was that he’d sent a postcard to tell him not to expect him back in Paris any time soon, he hadn’t sent him a text and he hadn’t called. He hadn’t promised that he’d stay in touch, hadn’t told him if he was planning on ever coming back.

He’d scribbled his address on the postcard, but Enjolras had never replied and maybe that had been a mistake. He could have called, too, he could have tried harder, but that postcard had just felt too much like a dismissal.

Enjolras burrowed a little closer to Courfeyrac. “I’m an asshole,” he whispered.

Courfeyrac gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Did you make someone cry again?”

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said sternly.

“I didn’t make anyone cry,” Enjolras said, pulling his blanket up to his chin. He couldn’t keep this whole thing to himself. He needed to talk about Grantaire and trust that his two best friends wouldn’t judge him too harshly. Grantaire was probably doing the exact same thing right now, talking to Joly and Bossuet about him, telling them how much of a twat Enjolras was. “I did something I shouldn’t have done and now he hates me.”

“ _He_ ,” Combeferre echoed, “as in Grantaire?”

“What happened with Grantaire?” Courfeyrac asked and Enjolras didn’t miss the curious edge his voice had taken on.

“I might have kissed him,” Enjolras said lowly, looking straight ahead, because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see the looks on his friends’ faces.

Neither Combeferre nor Courfeyrac said a word for a moment.

“And he didn’t want that?” Courfeyrac asked, brushing his hair back with nimble fingers.

“No, he did,” Enjolras said, shaking his head. “But then he wanted to talk and I just didn’t know what to say to him.”

“And then he got angry?” Combeferre asked, sounding doubtful. They all knew Grantaire well enough to know that he wouldn’t get mad about something like that.

“I brought up Rome,” Enjolras said.

Combeferre sighed, sharing a look with Courfeyrac. “Listen,” Combeferre said, glancing from Courfeyrac back to Enjolras, “we know that what Grantaire did wasn’t the ideal way of handling things and we know that you were hurt, and you had every right to be hurt, but it’s been nearly eight years since Grantaire left and last year you two decided to be friends and you’ve obviously developed feelings for him or maybe you’ve had them all along…” Combeferre trailed off, apparently not sure how to continue.

“You need to figure out whether or not you’re going to get over what he did,” Courfeyrac said bluntly. “He might have behaved like an ass, but that doesn’t mean you have to do the same thing.”

“What this shows very well, though,” Combeferre remarked, “is that he isn’t the only one who makes mistakes.”

Courfeyrac bumped his knee against Enjolras’ under the blanket. “Apologize to him, yeah? Tell him that you need time, but _talk_ to him, okay?”

“Okay,” Enjolras muttered. If only he knew what to tell Grantaire.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac both seemed to be satisfied with that. Somehow neither of them asked why and when Enjolras’ feelings towards Grantaire had changed – maybe they’d known all along, or maybe they’d noticed before Enjolras had. They’d always been good at figuring him out.

* * *

Enjolras wasn’t exactly exhilarated about the prospect of having to go to Marius’ bachelor party the next evening.

He remained cocooned in his duvet for the better part of the morning but eventually convinced himself to move enough to fetch his laptop to get done with the article that he’d nearly finished the evening before. He stayed in bed until Courfeyrac came to check on him and talked him into having lunch with him and Combeferre.

Afterwards he sent the final draft of his article to his editor and spent the rest of the afternoon doing research for other potential articles he was interested in doing to somehow keep his mind from going over what he could say to Grantaire later again and again.

He only reluctantly let Courfeyrac put him into a shirt that he’d specifically designed for Marius’ bachelor party – he didn’t have to say that Grantaire had helped him with the design, Enjolras had seen more than enough of his work to recognize it. Neither of them lost a single word about it, though.

They met Marius out in front of the bar that Courfeyrac had designated the first destination of their bachelor party pub crawl. Most of their friends were already there as well, all of them dutifully wearing their shirts. Marius himself was wearing a veil that was attached to an incredibly sparkly crown. Enjolras was pretty sure that Courfeyrac must have added some extra glitter to it.

Enjolras looked around to find Grantaire, but he was nowhere to be found. And maybe Enjolras was a bit relieved that he could put off talking to him for a little while longer.

They squeezed themselves around a tiny table by the window and Enjolras ended up squished between Jehan and Joly, both of them as friendly to him as they always were, neither of them showing any indication of whether or not they’d talked to Grantaire last night.

When he heard Grantaire’s name being mentioned at the other end of the table, Enjolras looked up.

“Grantaire was nice enough to offer to close up the Musain…” Bahorel laughed at something that Bossuet said. “Yeah, I know, I would have expected him to be the first one to show up for the pub crawl, too.”

“Hey, Enjolras…” Jehan held out his hand, a red hair tie in his palm. “Is this yours? I found it in the café this morning, it was behind the counter, so I’m actually hoping that it’s yours because if it isn’t, well, that would mean that _someone_ was behind _my_ counter or that this hair tie wandered back there on its own.”

“Yeah, it’s mine,” Enjolras said and took it from him, pretty sure that he was blushing furiously. “I must have lost it last night, thanks for giving it back.”

“No problem at all,” Jehan said, looking at him for a long moment and even though Enjolras couldn’t be sure, he had a feeling that Jehan actually did know what had happened between him and Grantaire.

Enjolras got roped into a conversation about the wedding soon enough and answered everyone’s questions as best as he could. He didn’t know everything about it either, although Cosette had it all planned out and had promised to print out the schedule for him. They were going to have dinner with their parents and Marius’ grandfather and the maid of honor and the best man the evening before the wedding and Enjolras certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.

Although he did trust in Courfeyrac’s ability to distract his parents sufficiently. He’d just try very hard to abide by Cosette’s wishes and not start an argument with their parents next weekend. He could do that, or at least that was what he kept telling himself.

When Courfeyrac ordered a round of shots, Enjolras took one, making a face when he’d swallowed it down. He definitely wouldn’t be having another one of those.

His friends had a couple more, Enjolras passing his on to the people around him. When they left, everyone was in a cheerful mood, Marius’ veil got passed around on their way to the next bar and Enjolras wore it for about five seconds, which was just enough time for Courfeyrac to snap a photo, before he handed it to Combeferre.

Grantaire met them at the next bar, glancing at Enjolras for the briefest of seconds before he sat down as far away from him as he possibly could. Enjolras had definitely got the message and suddenly he wasn’t so sure whether or not it was a good idea to talk to Grantaire _today_.

He tried to catch his eye, but Grantaire persistently wouldn’t look in his direction. Enjolras tried to let himself be distracted by the laughter of his friends, but he didn’t quite manage to actually join in.

On their way from the second bar to the Corinthe, their final destination, Enjolras noticed that Grantaire was trailing behind their group, trying to light a cigarette. Enjolras slowed his steps, pretending that the wary look that Grantaire gave him didn’t feel like a punch in the guts.

“Can we talk?” Enjolras asked him without a preamble once Grantaire had come close enough. “Later on maybe?”

He could see Jehan and Bahorel looking over their shoulders to see what was going on, Joly seemed to have noticed, too, but he wasn’t quite so obvious about it. In any case, this wasn’t a conversation that Enjolras needed all their friends to listen in on.

Grantaire only gave a vague grunt in reply, keeping his eyes fixed on the sidewalk.

“Please,” Enjolras said lowly.

“Fine,” Grantaire said gruffly, “later… or whatever.” He sped up his steps and quickly joined Joly and Bossuet, who each wrapped an arm around him.

Enjolras followed them at a slower pace, feeling even worse than before.

The Corinthe was packed, which wasn’t exactly unusual for a Saturday night, so they had to share a table that was meant for about six people. Joly ended up in Bossuet’s lap, Jehan in Bahorel’s, and Combeferre borrowed a chair from the table next to theirs.

There were more drinks being handed out as the night went on, but Enjolras stuck to his water and shared a plate of way too greasy fries with Courfeyrac . Later on, when the Corinthe was already starting to empty and Grantaire downed his drink and slipped out of his seat, heading towards the door to have a smoke, Enjolras got up and followed him.

It wasn’t like anyone noticed. Bahorel was busy flirting with the girl behind the bar, Joly and Combeferre were telling Jehan the worst jokes they could come up with, and Courfeyrac and Bossuet were talking to Marius, who looked somewhat terrified, like they were trying to talk him into something that they now thought was hilarious but definitely wouldn’t be when they woke up tomorrow morning. 

Enjolras found Grantaire leaning against the wall outside, taking a drag of his cigarette. He sighed when he spotted Enjolras, his face shrouded in a cloud of smoke. Enjolras took a step closer. Grantaire didn’t seem to be mindlessly drunk, honestly, he seemed to be faring a lot better than Courfeyrac and Joly and Bossuet, so he thought it safe to make an attempt at talking to him. “Grantaire, I just–”

“Look,” Grantaire interrupted, stubbing out his cigarette, “let’s make this easy for both of us, alright? Let’s just pretend this never happened. Problem solved.”

“I’m really sorry, Grantaire, but I–”

“I’m serious,” Grantaire said, sounding somewhat resigned. “I know that you’re sorry. I understand that you don’t know what you want. I also understand that you don’t trust me and that’s my own fucking fault. But honestly, I’m so tired of this and I don’t want to play this game anymore. So can we please let it go?”

“If that’s what you want,” Enjolras said quietly.

“Yes, that’s what I want,” Grantaire said, his voice wavering ever so slightly.  

Enjolras nodded. “I see. Well…”

“Go back inside,” Grantaire said, nudging him towards the door. “We’re cool, are you happy now?”

Enjolras wasn’t happy at all, but it wasn’t like he was going to ignore that Grantaire had asked him to leave this alone, he certainly wasn’t going to force Grantaire to have a conversation that he didn’t want to have. Grantaire had made it clear enough where he stood, so all Enjolras could do was to trudge off.

He cast one last glance over his shoulder, watching Grantaire as he lit another cigarette, then he stepped back inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter, I'm sorry that I didn't get around to replying to your comments.


	15. Chapter 15

Enjolras looked down at his suitcase, his thoughts wandering back and forth between the wedding and his parents and, well, Grantaire.

He often caught himself thinking about Grantaire being at the wedding and he really wasn’t sure what to do, whether he should leave him alone or if he should pretend that nothing had happened. All week, whenever he’d had a quiet second to himself, he’d remembered how much he’d fucked up with Grantaire. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had both tried to bring it up, but Enjolras had refused to say a word about it and they’d eventually let it go.

Enjolras had thought that packing might distract him, but there just wasn’t much for him to bring.

He’d left his suit in the capable hands of Courfeyrac, who’d come to their place to stay the night so they could leave early on Friday morning in his car. They actually hadn’t been planning on leaving until much later, but Cosette hadn’t been too happy about the prospect of having to spend half a day with their parents, so he’d promised he’d join them as early as he could.

It had been a busy week for him, they’d even cancelled their Wednesday night meeting, since they were all leaving for the wedding on Friday and most of them had a lot of work to take care of before they left.

Enjolras hadn’t wasted a single thought on what would be appropriate for him to wear for dinner on Friday night. He was pretty sure that someone would find a way to criticize whatever it was that he ended up wearing, so he wasn’t sure if he should actually make an effort. Maybe he should just wear what he’d put on after he’d got home from work, yoga pants and one of his old rally shirts, just to piss off his parents.

It was a delightful thought, but Cosette was likely to murder him if he went through with it and Enjolras was set on surviving the following weekend, as much of a hassle as it was going to be.

Enjolras sighed and opened his door. “Courfeyrac, can you help me out real quick?”

Courfeyrac appeared seconds later, his hair tousled. “What do you need?” he asked, giving him a quick hug in passing.

“Something to wear for dinner with my parents,” Enjolras grumbled. He sat down on his bed, grinning when Courfeyrac dived into his closet, presenting him with outfit choices for the next half hour until Combeferre came looking for him.

“What are you two doing?”

“I’m playing dress up with Enjolras’ clothes,” Courfeyrac said, smiling gleefully. “Ohh,” he cooed and pulled a red blazer out of his closet, “remember this one, you haven’t worn it since university.”

Enjolras was getting a feeling that Courfeyrac might be having a little too much fun doing this, although there were clothes other than socks and briefs in his suitcase now, so that was something.

“Oh my god, Enjolras…” Courfeyrac knelt down and for a split-second Enjolras thought he might have found Grantaire’s ratty hoodie peaking out of that box at the back of his closet, but then Courfeyrac held up a pair of red Converse that was falling apart. “You still have these?”

Enjolras shrugged. He just didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

Courfeyrac shook his head and put them back where he’d found them, then he joined Enjolras and Combeferre on the bed, laughing happily.

“I’m so excited for the wedding,” he said. “Honestly, it’s about time that someone’s getting married. And Feuilly’s coming as well, it’s been so long since we’ve last seen him.” Courfeyrac bounced up and down a little. “Oh my god, Enjolras, you might be an uncle soon.”

“They might ask you to babysit,” Combeferre added, smiling smugly.

No one in their right mind would trust Enjolras with a baby and they knew it. “I hate both of you,” Enjolras grumbled and closed his eyes with a sigh. He was completely knackered and he really wouldn’t mind sleeping for a solid twelve hours to catch up on all the sleep he hadn’t got during the last couple of days.

Someone gently petted his hair for a minute or so and Enjolras was starting to doze off, mumbling a _thank you_ when Combeferre and Courfeyrac pried the duvet out from underneath him and wrapped it around him.

“We’ll wake you up tomorrow morning,” Combeferre whispered, then the lights went off and the door clicked shut.

Enjolras slept soundly that night, even though his dreams were confusing at first and he was pretty sure that his mother made an appearance at some point, but then a strong arm wrapped around and chapped lips pressed a kiss to his temple and Enjolras relaxed again. When he woke up in the morning, he was confused for a second because there was no one there holding him.

It was six o’clock when he crawled out of bed. He’d fallen asleep hours earlier than he usually did, but he’d somehow still woken up at the same time as he always did.

Enjolras tiptoed across the hall, took a quick shower and then went to get some pastries for breakfast. He wasn’t sure how to thank Combeferre and Courfeyrac for putting up with him, but it seemed like a good first step in the right direction.

Courfeyrac was in an incredibly good mood from the second he got up, gave Enjolras a kiss on the cheek for getting them breakfast and then proceeded to drink an astounding amount of coffee.

Combeferre, in the meantime, made sure that they weren’t forgetting anything and apparently also found the time to hide Enjolras’ laptop.

“What if something comes up?” Enjolras asked.

“They have your phone number,” Combeferre said sternly.

“But they won’t call you, because you have the weekend off and everyone knows that you’ll be at your sister’s wedding,” Courfeyrac threw in.

Combeferre nodded. “Go get your jacket, we’re leaving in ten minutes.”

Enjolras was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to need a jacket since it had been hot as hell all week, but it was generally a bad idea not to listen to Combeferre, so he picked one up anyway before he carried his suitcase downstairs.

The drive to Marius’ grandfather’s summer residence was rather uneventful, Courfeyrac was happily singing along to each and every song on the radio and didn’t even get lost thanks to Combeferre’s exceptional navigation skills. Enjolras spend most of the ride staring out the window and checking his emails on his phone.

“Holy shit,” Courfeyrac said as they drove up to the house. “My parents’ house looks like a shed compared to this.”

“It’s certainly…” Combeferre trailed off, shaking his head.

“Fucking huge,” Courfeyrac finished for him. “It’s like a little castle. Actually, maybe not so little. Oh my god, we’re going to sleep in there.”

Enjolras had grown up in a big house as well, much too big for four people, but this place was definitely a few sizes bigger than his childhood home. It was neatly kept, the lawn and the bushes impeccable, and Enjolras was somehow sure that it looked like this all year round and hadn’t just been furbished up for the wedding.

There were a couple of vans parked outside the house, probably delivering tables and chairs and flowers and whatever else was needed for a wedding.

Courfeyrac parked the car by the house and when they walked up the steps to the door, Marius came darting out of the house, pulling Courfeyrac into a hug that lasted for an awkwardly long time, and whispered, “I’m so glad that you’re here.”

* * *

Enjolras looked around his room, wondering how much longer he could hide up here before Cosette came to drag him back downstairs.

His room was huge and furnished with a huge wooden bed, a desk, a shelf full of ancient-looking books, and a wardrobe that looked like it led straight to Narnia.

He was about to take a closer look at those books when there was a knock on the door. Surprisingly it wasn’t Cosette who peered inside a couple of seconds later – it was Courfeyrac. “Dude,” he said as he slipped into the room, “this place is ridiculous. Seriously, have you seen the garden?”

Enjolras nodded. He had a pretty good view of the garden and the huge tent that was being set up there as they spoke.

“Have you talked to your parents?” Courfeyrac went on and sat down next to him on the bed.

“Not more than you have,” Enjolras replied. They’d come to say hello when they’d arrived, but Enjolras hadn’t been in the mood for an extensive chat. He’d noticed that wife number three had been absent, but it wouldn’t have been wise to bring that up.

“Dinner is going to be so much fun,” Courfeyrac said gleefully and sank back against the pillows. “God, these beds are heavenly.”

Enjolras hummed vaguely in reply.

Courfeyrac kept quiet for a couple of minutes, idly twiddling his thumbs, then he turned to look at him. “Enjolras, have you… have you talked to Grantaire? I mean, you’re going to see him tomorrow and… well, I know that you were busy, but I thought that–”

“I did talk to him,” Enjolras interrupted. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to argue or anything.”

“So it didn’t go too badly? Because when you didn’t want to talk about it, I thought…” He trailed off and shrugged.

“It really didn’t go as planned,” Enjolras said gruffly. “He said everything was fine, but it’s not. I didn’t even say what I meant to say to him, he wouldn’t listen.”

“Maybe you should give it another try,” Courfeyrac said thoughtfully.

“But he doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, he just told me to let it go.”

Courfeyrac sighed. “Try a different approach.”

“A different approach?” Enjolras echoed.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said, nodding.

“Like what?”

Courfeyrac patted him on the back. “You’ll think of something.”

Enjolras still had no idea what Courfeyrac was trying to tell him and before he could ask again the door flew open and Cosette came stomping inside. “You’re here but you’re leaving me alone with our parents,” she hissed. “The point of you being here is that I don’t have to do this alone.” She took a deep breath and smoothed down her sunflower dress. “We’re having drinks in the parlor in fifteen minutes,” she added and gave them a razor-sharp smile,” and you’re going to join us.”

“Alright,” Enjolras grumbled.

“You need to change,” Cosette said and opened Enjolras’ suitcase, pulling out the now wrinkled dress shirt that Courfeyrac had picked out for him. Cosette made a face. “Well, that’ll have to do.” She smiled at Courfeyrac. “At least _someone_ looks nice.”

“It’s the bowtie,” Courfeyrac said, winking at her. “Hey,” he added, elbowing Enjolras in the ribs, “I have another one, do you want to borrow it.”

“No, thanks,” Enjolras muttered, huffing when Cosette threw his shirt in his face.

“Fifteen minutes,” she called as she waltzed out of the room.

Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Combeferre walked into the parlor twenty minutes later and found everyone chatting, not missing them in the slightest, although Enjolras didn’t miss the dirty look his father shot him.

They were introduced all around, Marius’ cousin and his aunt and uncle came to shake their hands, their smiles a little stiff when Courfeyrac introduced Combeferre as his boyfriend. Musichetta was there as well, but there was no trace of Joly and Bossuet.

“They’re staying at the inn with Grantaire,” she told him. “We were thinking about meeting for drinks later, what do you think?”

“I think that sounds like a fantastic idea,” Courfeyrac said, wiggling his eyebrows excitedly.

Enjolras only let out a non-committal hum because he really wasn’t really in the mood for drinks and sullenly stared down at the martini he’d been handed. He kept to the far corner of the room, carefully avoiding his parents. He didn’t quite manage to avoid Marius’ aunt, though.

“Well, dear, didn’t you bring anyone to the wedding?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t,” Enjolras said curtly. Really, as if him not having a date was so incredibly interesting.

“He just hasn’t found the right girl yet,” his father said, appearing out of the blue.

Enjolras could see Combeferre watching them out of the corner of his eye and he was desperately hoping for him to come rescue him, but then Musichetta started talking to him, distracting him effectively.

“Actually I’m not looking for a girl at all,” Enjolras said with the brightest smile he could muster.

“This is hardly appropriate,” his father said lowly.

“I apologize,” Enjolras said to Marius’ aunt, quickly glanced at Cosette, shooting her an apologetic look, and then marched out into the hallway.

Courfeyrac found him there ten minutes later and wordlessly pulled him into a hug.

* * *

Enjolras did his best to make his tie look at least somewhat acceptable, pulled his hair into a bun that thankfully didn’t end up looking as messy as his buns usually did and yawned loudly. He hadn’t gone out with the others the night before, but he’d tried his best to distract himself with the musty-smelling books in his room.

He’d gone to bed early enough and had been woken up by several drunk texts from Joly and Courfeyrac and Bahorel, and he’d received a photo of Feuilly at one in the morning when he’d arrived at the inn.

He cast one last gloomy glance at his reflection in the mirror, then he snuck over to Cosette’s room. The wedding guests were going to arrive soon and Enjolras could hear Combeferre and Courfeyrac laughing down the hall.

Cosette was already in her dress, waving at Enjolras when he came walking inside.

“Oh dear, you’re really not supposed to be in here,” his mother said, giving Enjolras a stern look.

“It’s alright,” Cosette said and twirled around in her dress. She looked a little bit like a princess, like the one she’d always shown to Enjolras in her favorite storybook. “What do you think?” she asked.

Enjolras smiled. “You look nice.”

“ _Nice_ ,” Cosette echoed, rolling her eyes. “Well, you look nice, too. That’s a lovely tie you got there.” She took a step closer and straightened it for him. “Don’t take it off until after the ceremony.”

“I won’t,” Enjolras promised.

“Good. Now do me a favor and go downstairs and make sure that everyone finds their seats and then I’ll see you there.” She laughed giddily. “I’m getting married,” she whispered, quietly enough so only Enjolras could hear. “Alright, go on.”

Enjolras was ushered out the door, where he nearly bumped into Musichetta, already in her rose-colored bridesmaid dress. She told him that Joly and Bossuet had already arrived, together with the rest of their other friends.

Enjolras quickly hurried down the stairs and found Combeferre and Feuilly on the terrace. He spent a much too long time catching up with Feuilly and then darted off to usher Cosette’s colleagues to their respective seats, which was when he remembered that he needed to tell Combeferre to save him a seat because definitely didn’t want to sit next to his parents during the ceremony.

He couldn’t find Combeferre, but he did come across Grantaire, nursing a glass of champagne – God knows where he’d got that one. As far as Enjolras knew drinks weren’t supposed to be handed out until after the ceremony.  

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, before Enjolras could find a bush to hide behind. “Nice suit you got there.” The suit that Grantaire was wearing certainly didn’t look bad either and it seemed that someone – Courfeyrac, most definitely Courfeyrac – had got him to wear a bowtie.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he muttered. He was about to make a quick escape to find Combeferre, but the ceremony was going to start soon, so he really needed to get back to Cosette. “Hey,” Enjolras said and took a step closer, “can you ask Combeferre to save me a seat?”

“Will do,” Grantaire said, nodding at him before he turned to leave. He was so polite and yet a little snippy and it was more unsettling than anything else he could possibly do.

Enjolras caught him by the elbow before he could go. “Grantaire…”

Grantaire sighed. “What?”

Well, Enjolras hadn’t exactly thought about what he’d say to him once he got him to listen. “I still have your hoodie,” Enjolras blurted out.

Grantaire frowned. “What?”

“The green one,” Enjolras said. Telling him this had been such a horrible idea. “You gave it to me and I never threw it away.”

“Why the fuck do you still have that?” Grantaire asked, his lips twitching.

“I just couldn’t throw it away. You always wore it and it reminded me of you and then I stuffed it into a box and it’s still there.”

Now Grantaire actually smiled. “The _I-hate-Grantaire_ box?”

“Yeah, that one,” Enjolras said, smiling back at him.

Grantaire snorted. “I see. Well, I’m actually pretty sure that you used to wear that thing more than I did.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to reply, but was then whisked away by Musichetta, who also gave Grantaire a nudge and told him to go find himself a seat.

“Are you ready?” Musichetta asked Enjolras.

Enjolras only shook his head and let her drag him off.

Cosette smiled at him when she hooked her arm around his and Enjolras did his best not to walk too quickly, keeping his eyes on where they were going, keeping a safe distance to the two kids who were throwing flower petals.

The garden had been decorated beautifully and although Enjolras thought there was a little too much of everything, too much tulle, too many flowers, he knew that it was exactly what Cosette had always dreamed about.

Marius was making heart-eyes at Cosette and smiled broadly when Enjolras and Cosette finally reached the end of the aisle. Enjolras kissed Cosette’s cheek, then he went to find the seat his friends had hopefully saved him. Apparently Grantaire hadn’t had the chance to tell Combeferre, but there was an empty seat next to him that Grantaire patted on when he caught Enjolras’ eye.

Enjolras quickly slid the chair next to Grantaire, whispering a quiet _thank you_ , ignoring that his father turned around to glare at him.

The ceremony went by quickly and by the end of it Enjolras had to try very hard not to cry. Courfeyrac had been wiping at his eyes since the very beginning and Enjolras was pretty sure that he’d heard Bahorel sniffle behind him.

Grantaire reached out to squeeze his arm, then he handed him a tissue.

“I’m not crying,” Enjolras whispered, but snatched the tissue from Grantaire’s fingers anyway.

Cosette gave him a broad grin when she walked past him, her cheeks still wet, and when everyone around them got up for the reception, Grantaire patted him on the back. “Save me a dance, alright?”

“I don’t dance,” Enjolras said, almost automatically, although he was glad that Grantaire didn’t act as reserved as earlier.

Grantaire laughed. “We’ll see,” he said and followed Jehan.

Enjolras made sure to stay with his friends while they had cocktails, went to congratulate the happy couple and ended up eating about a billion appetizers to keep his stomach from rumbling.

He ignored his parents as best as he could and when Cosette came to ask him to dance with her later on, Enjolras was quick to accept because he didn’t want to spend another second sitting next to his bickering parents. Apparently they’d figured out that Enjolras was doing everything he could not to start another argument, so they’d simply turned on each other.

When Cosette pulled him away they’d been having a rather unpleasant conversation about the absence of wife number three.

Enjolras could see Grantaire dancing with Musichetta, spinning her around, both of them laughing. He snuck a glance in their direction every now and then, but he was pretty distracted trying not to step on Cosette’s dress. It wasn’t that he was a bad dancer, he’d taken lessons when he was younger, but that dress really presented itself as a bit of a challenge.

Cosette eventually let him go in favor of dancing with Courfeyrac, who later on flopped down on a chair next to Enjolras, sighing happily. “She’s so beautiful. I’m so proud of them, I mean, look at Marius, he only cried a little bit during my speech.”

“You’re disappointed that he didn’t start sobbing, aren’t you?”

“Just a tiny little bit,” Courfeyrac said and elbowed him in the ribs. “Do you think they’re gonna cut the cake soon?”

“How can you even think about eating right now?” Combeferre asked as he joined them.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” Courfeyrac said dramatically. “It’s not like my boyfriend is asking me to dance.”

“Why aren’t _you_ asking your boyfriend to dance?” Enjolras asked Courfeyrac.

“Traitor,” Courfeyrac grumbled and took Combeferre by the hand to pull him to his feet, leading him over to the dancefloor.

Enjolras was just about to join Feuilly and Bahorel at the other end of his friends’ table when Grantaire appeared next to him. “Did my eyes deceive me, or did I actually spy you dancing just now?” Grantaire grinned. “Because you said you didn’t dance, but as a matter of fact you actually do.”

“Not voluntarily,” Enjolras said.

“It didn’t even look that bad, you know.” Grantaire held out his hand. “Almost like you knew what you were doing.”

“Maybe my mother made me take dancing lessons when I was younger,” Enjolras said and reluctantly took his hand so Grantaire could pull him to his feet. “One dance,” he mumbled, trying not to think about how Grantaire didn’t let go of his hand as they walked over to the dancefloor. “You should know that my father might try to kill you after this.”

“Hm, I don’t particularly care about what your dad thinks about me,” Grantaire said and put his hand on the small of Enjolras’ back, pulling him closer but keeping a respectful distance between them. “And neither do you as far as I remember.”

Enjolras laughed and let Grantaire lead him across the dancefloor, over to where Combeferre and Courfeyrac were dancing, past Cosette and Marius’ grandfather, past Marius’ cousin, Théodule, who was dancing with one of Cosette’s colleagues.

“What happened to your tie?” Grantaire asked, smiling up at him.

“I lost it,” Enjolras said dryly.

He barely noticed when the band started playing a different song, he just slowed his steps along with Grantaire.

“Marius’ cousin is a real ladies man, isn’t he?” Grantaire muttered. “I bet it’s that uniform.”

Enjolras only hummed in reply. They were closer than before and he could easily rest his head against Grantaire’s, but Grantaire had asked him to let it go. He sighed. “Grantaire…”

“I know that we’re currently on dance number two, I just thought you were enjoying yourself,” Grantaire said.

“That’s not what I wanted to say,” Enjolras muttered, dipping his head down. “I want to talk to you. Really talk to you. About us and about, I don’t know, everything that went wrong between us, can we please do that?”

“Right now?” Grantaire asked, his fingers on Enjolras’ back twitching ever so slightly.

“I’m not sure if right now would be the best time,” Enjolras said. “Maybe when we’re back in Paris?”

Grantaire sighed. “Alright,” he mumbled, “I guess there’s no way of talking you out of that anyway, is there?”

“Well, I’ve been told I can be quite persistent,” Enjolras said lowly. “But if you’d like me to stop being persistent, just say the word.”

“No,” Grantaire said. “It’s fine. We can’t pretend that everything’s fine forever.” He pulled Enjolras a little closer. “And Courfeyrac said, well, never mind what he said.” He laughed lowly. “So yeah, we can talk.”

Enjolras smiled, resting his chin on the top of Grantaire’s head. He caught his father’s eye and it didn't actually come as a surprise to Enjolras that he was glaring daggers at them. His mother, however, now sitting next to Marius’ aunt, was smiling at them.


	16. Chapter 16

Returning to Paris after the wedding was surprisingly unspectacular – Enjolras went to work on Monday morning, debated going to the Musain for dinner, but ended up heading straight back home, trying to help Combeferre cook dinner until he was gently shoved out of the kitchen because he was in the way.

Until Combeferre called him back into the kitchen, Enjolras stared down at his phone, wondering whether or not he should text Grantaire. He eventually decided against it and poked at his dinner, Combeferre shooting him looks that were somewhere between annoyed and worried.

“Maybe you should call him,” Combeferre mumbled when his plate was empty and Enjolras still had barely even touched his food.

“But what if he thinks I’m being pushy?” Enjolras asked. “I told him that I wanted to talk, so shouldn’t I wait until he’s ready to… talk?”

Combeferre sighed. “And what if he’s waiting for you to tell him that–” He was interrupted by the doorbell.

Enjolras frowned. “Is Courfeyrac coming over tonight?”

“Not as far as I know,” Combeferre said and stood up to answer the door. “Enjolras, I’ll be at Courfeyrac’s,” he called after a couple of seconds.

“What?” Enjolras asked and got up as well, finding Combeferre in the hall, pulling on his coat, and Grantaire standing in the doorway.

Combeferre vanished to his room and returned a minute later, a minute in which Enjolras only stared at Grantaire, who didn’t seem to be so sure about whether or not he wanted to step inside. Combeferre gave Enjolras’ shoulder a squeeze and he briefly smiled at Grantaire. “Come in, Grantaire,” he muttered, nudging him over the threshold before he left.

Grantaire cleared his throat and pushed the door shut behind him. “You wanted to talk. And I was going to wait until you showed up at the Musain or something, but it’s my day off and I had way too much time to think about shit, so I thought I might as well come by and see if you’re…” He trailed off, biting his lip. “Is this a bad time?”

“No,” Enjolras said, quickly shaking his head. “Let’s sit down and… can I get you anything? Combeferre made dinner.”

“I’m good,” Grantaire mumbled and followed Enjolras into the living room, flopping down on the couch, looking a little uncertain.

Enjolras sat down at the other end of the couch, his knees drawn up to his chest. “So…”

“So,” Grantaire echoed, nodding to himself.

Honestly, Enjolras could have used some time to prepare for this.

Grantaire sighed. “Well, you kissed me and then you behaved like a complete shithead and I told you to let it go and leave me alone and then you told me you still have that stupid hoodie and that you want to talk. So talk.”

“I still love you,” Enjolras blurted out. He knew that it wasn’t enough, it couldn’t be, he also needed to apologize and he needed to explain himself, explain why he had doubts, but he’d really needed to get that off his chest first.

Grantaire stared at him for a long moment. “I feel like there’s a _but_ coming.”

“I just don’t know how things could ever work out between us,” Enjolras said lowly.

“Then why are we even talking?” Grantaire snapped. “Seriously, if you’re so convinced that there’s absolutely no chance for us, then why are you doing this?”

“Because I want there to be a chance for us,” Enjolras said. He wished he didn’t sound this petulant. He knew what being with Grantaire was like, he knew what it felt like to be held by him, and what it was like to be kissed awake by him in the morning. He missed that. He missed Grantaire.

Grantaire sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “But?” he asked. “You don’t trust me? Is that it? Because I did something unbelievably dumb _eight years ago_.”

Enjolras didn’t reply, because that was basically what it came down to, but now that Grantaire had said it out loud it just sounded ridiculous to him.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said and leaned closer to him, “remember that letter I sent you?”

Enjolras nodded. It took him an incredible amount of self-restraint not to reach out, not to touch him.

“You didn’t read it, did you?”

“I was angry,” Enjolras said, staring down at his hands because he couldn’t look Grantaire in the eyes.

“Well, I guess it’s about time I told you this…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Can you at least fucking look at me?”

Enjolras looked up, his eyes meeting Grantaire’s bright blue ones.

“Basically what I said was, I mean, I don’t remember every detail, but yeah…” He tugged his fingers through his curls. “I’m sorry I never called. And that I just wrote you a postcard instead. You know, I always knew you were too good for me anyway and I thought, I don’t know, that you were glad that I was out of your way? Honestly, you were so way out of my league.” Grantaire grinned wryly. “You still are.”

Enjolras pursed his lips.

“Just stating the facts,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “I missed you when I was away. I missed you so much, but I honestly thought you’d forgotten all about me. I mean, I heard from everyone else every now and then. Jehan said you… he said you never mentioned me. He said that you were doing fine.” He rubbed at his nose as if he couldn’t quite keep still. “Anyway, I missed you and I just wanted to know how you were doing and I wanted to tell you that I still loved you.” He laughed. “I guess in retrospect I’m actually glad that you never read it.”

“I missed you, too,” Enjolras whispered. He was glad that he even managed to say that much.

“Okay,” Grantaire only said, nodding slowly. Then, for some reason, he smiled. “This is a fucking mess. You and me, we’re a mess. I’m still an asshole and I still make the worst mistakes, but I can promise you that I’d never pull the same shit on you again. I was just a kid back then, I’m not the same person anymore. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Enjolras felt the urge to kiss him and to never stop, but he only held out his hand, smiling when Grantaire took it. He knew what he wanted now, actually he’d known all along, he’d just been too afraid to admit it, because this could go so terribly wrong. “Do you think we could try again?”

“You really want that?” Grantaire asked, almost sounding hopeful.

“Yes, I really do,” Enjolras said, gently running his thumb across the back of Grantaire’s hand. “And I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Well, at least we’re on the same page now,” Grantaire said. “Well, we’re the least compatible people on this planet, but who knows, maybe it’ll work out. And maybe one day we’ll adopt a kitten or a puppy. You’d probably want a kitten.” Grantaire laughed quietly. “And maybe we’ll live happily ever after.”

It took Enjolras a couple of seconds how to speak. “A kitten,” he said eventually. “Definitely a kitten.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Grantaire said, winking at him.

“Would it be alright if I took you out on a date?” Enjolras asked. “I promise I won’t cook for you. And we can just take things from there.”

Grantaire laughed. “Yeah, that would be great.”

Enjolras squeezed his hand and Grantaire leaned back, looking so much more comfortable than he had only a minute ago. Enjolras thought it was safe to inch a little closer.

“That okay?” Grantaire asked and put an arm around him.

Enjolras nodded and curled against him. “This is going to be a lot of work.”

“I know,” Grantaire said and turned his head to kiss his forehead. “I told you, we’re a mess. This is gonna be nothing but trouble.” Grantaire leaned his head against Enjolras’.

Enjolras hummed thoughtfully. “We’ll manage.”

“I think I’ll just do something completely ridiculous and believe you,” Grantaire said with a sigh. He gave Enjolras a nudge. “So, you seriously still have that hoodie?”

“Shut up,” Enjolras grumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching when Grantaire nuzzled into his hair.

* * *

“You cannot be serious,” Grantaire said flatly when he opened the door for Enjolras.

He was scowling too, so that probably meant that he was still angry with Enjolras for forgetting their dinner date.

Enjolras had just been so busy with work lately and he’d meant to go straight to the Musain after work, but he’d fallen asleep at the office and Grantaire was refusing to talk to him ever since. Enjolras understood why he was mad, but after being miserable for days, he had finally decided to do something about it.

Well, actually Courfeyrac had decided it for him when he’d come to their place and had told him about the adorable kittens they’d got at the shelter down the street.

Enjolras handed Grantaire the box he’d carried over to his apartment. “At least take a look at them.”

“Them?” Grantaire asked, his eyes going wide. At least he tugged Enjolras inside his apartment instead of slamming the door shut in his face.

“Well…” Enjolras said and took the lid off the shoebox, handing it to Grantaire. He sighed. “I’m really sorry that I missed our date.”

“You fell asleep at the office,” Grantaire grumbled, sticking his finger into the box, his lips twitching. “You need to get more sleep,” he said sternly and sat down on the carpet, pulling the two kittens out of the box.

Enjolras pushed the door shut and toed off his shoes, setting down the bag with the litter box in it before he joined him.

Grantaire’s apartment had changed a lot in the year since he’d moved in. For once, he actually had furniture now. Only his bed was still just a mattress on the floor, buried under pillows and blankets that had been given to him by their friends.

“So,” Grantaire said, poking at one of the kittens that promptly attacked his finger, “what the hell am I supposed to with these apology cats?”

“Keep them?” Enjolras said and picked up one of them, the black one with the white spots.

“Right, and when you got these two,” Grantaire said slowly, “did you get a litter box and toys and food for them, too?”

“The guy at the shelter gave me a litter box. I thought we could buy the rest together.” Actually, he might have forgotten all about that. Enjolras smiled at him hesitantly. “I could hardly take those two to the pet store with me, right?”

“Yeah, I figured you hadn’t thought about that at all.”

Enjolras made a face. “Well, I just wanted to show you that I really mean it.”

“You know, other people buy flowers or food or they just fucking apologize when they keep ditching their boyfriend. Seriously, this was the fourth time.”

“One time I was just late and the other two times I called, you can hardly call that _ditching_ ,” Enjolras protested.

“My point is,” Grantaire continued, completely unfazed, “that you work too much.”

“I’m not the only one who works a lot.”

Grantaire had the audacity to roll his eyes at him. “At least I’ve slept in the last twenty-four hours.”

“Well, so have I,” Enjolras snapped.

“Yeah? For how long?” Grantaire asked. “Two hours?”

“Three and a half,” Enjolras replied angrily, hugging his kitten to his chest.

“Christ,” Grantaire mumbled.

“I really am sorry,” Enjolras said in an attempt to distract Grantaire. “I have the weekend off, we can go have dinner together tomorrow and then we can,” Enjolras smiled at Grantaire, “do whatever you want.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, covering the ears of the kitten he’d been playing with, “not in front of the kids.”

“So we’re keeping them?”

“Of course we’re keeping them,” Grantaire said as if there’d never been any doubt about it. “Anyway, we’ve always wanted to get a kitten, right?”

“Right,” Enjolras said, nodding. That was the main reason why he’d got them. He’d just wanted to make sure that Grantaire knew that Enjolras was still in it for the long run, as much as he messed up on a regular basis.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do,” Grantaire said and pulled one of their old blankets off the sofa and made a nest with it. “We’re going to leave those two here and hope that they don’t completely destroy my apartment while we get some litter for that litter box you brought, and maybe some toys, and food for them and for us and then you’re going straight to bed.”

“As long as you’re going straight to bed with me,” Enjolras said.

“Of course,” Grantaire said, smiling when Enjolras leaned in to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so that's it from me. Thank you so much for reading and leaving kudos and commenting!
> 
> I have a [writing blog](http://musains.tumblr.com/) if anyone's interested.


End file.
